<body rightmargin="0" leftmargin="0"><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d9702947\x26blogName\x3dDesperate+Working+Mommas\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dSILVER\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://desperateworkingmommas.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://desperateworkingmommas.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-8983844964446875025', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Desperate Working Mommas
Your one-stop site for fanatical television snarking, questionable political analysis, occasional attempts to address the parenting issues facing working mothers, and halfhearted promises to stop obsessing about the entertainment industry, already! Oh, not to mention the random bitching and moaning. There's always that.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Free Candy

*Caution: AARON, this post could be construed as long(ish). You have been warned. Continue at your own risk.

I don't normally eat candy, especially hard candy. It's not chocolate, so why bother? But there it was, tempting me. Free candy. Right there in a bowl. Candy for free. Which I could freely take and eat for free. So what if I don't normally like candy, especially hard, yellowish candy in little crinkly, clear, individual wrappers?

But it was free, so I took one and popped it in my mouth. (I get a little crazy like this sometimes, which I suppose is a sad reflection of my weak character, gluttony, and parsimonious nature.) No, wait, of course I took the candy out of the wrapper first, then popped it in my mouth. I just reread that and thought maybe you would think that I just popped it right in my mouth, wrapper and all. Woo-woo, crazy wrapper-eating candy lady! But I didn't.

The thing is, have you ever smelled something hauntingly familiar, something that reminds you of a specific place or time in your past?

To whit: The other day I borrowed a friend's lotion, which turned out to be Johnson's baby lotion, and I was overcome with the memory of the first time I buried my face in the nape of my newborn baby boy's neck.

And there was that freak thunderstorm during my friend's Fourth of July picnic, forcing all the party guests, including the host's dog, into the cramped living room. The dank smell of wet dog-- though a tad nauseating at first-- transported me back to my childhood, when my sisters and I could be found running through the backyard sprinklers with our family's two mangy mutts, Muffin and Foxy Lady.

Or even the musky scent of an old boyfriend's unwashed U2 concert t-shirt that someone I know never gave back and never will because it's super comfortable to sleep in and it's his own freaking fault for leaving it at her place anyway before he snogged with my, I mean, her best friend and broke her heart... Wait. Where was I going with this? Oh yes. That scent can remind you, well, that you may need to seek professional help. No, really.

"What does this have to do with hard yellowish candy in little crinkly, clear, individual wrappers?" you wonder. Patience, Reader-san, for truly, there is a point: That darn piece of candy was a butterscotch.

A butterscotch!

Well, I'll be jiggered if the smell if it-- and the taste of it, as well-- didn't overwhelm me with memories: sweltering Arizona desert heat outside, cool, smoky, air-conditioned air inside; air-popped buttery popcorn in enormous Tupperware bowls; the boisterous laughter of women playing cards; a crowded pool complete with rafts, floaties, and rousing games of Shark and Marco Polo; peeling, sun-burned noses and green-tinted chlorine-hair; too many wet kids in bathing suits slipping and sliding through Grandma's kitchen amid shouts of "Mommy! Look-it! MOMMY!" and "SHUT THE DOOR!"

(I just used "jiggered" in a sentence. Huh.)

Okay, coming to the point now, if anyone is still reading. Or wondering.

Most importantly, the butterscotch recalled to me the glass jar Grandma kept on her kitchen counter, back behind the humongous, overflowing bowls of popcorn. This jar was always full of the same two types of hard candy: either the red-and-white-striped wrapper with a tongue-searing cinnamon candy inside, or the kinder, gentler, crinkly-wrapped butterscotch. Free candy. Right there in a jar. Candy for free. I always chose butterscotch. I had forgotten.

The moral of the story is this, Reader-san: Never look a gift piece of hard candy in the mouth. Or something.

link | posted by Cat at 4:06 PM

Anonymous Anonymous commented:

Cute story. A little long, but cute nonetheless.


» 1/19/2005 3:11 PM 
Blogger Circus Kelli commented:

Moral of the story:

"Always pop a piece of free gift hard candy in your mouth."

» 1/19/2005 3:24 PM 
Blogger Cat commented:

Damn. You're gooooood.

» 1/19/2005 6:48 PM 

Post a Comment

« Back to Main Page

© desperateworkingmommas.blogspot.com | powered by Blogger | designed by mela (& modified by me)
Get awesome blog templates like this one from BlogSkins.com