Candy

A short piece about my obsession with candy during my childhood.

Now we’re talking.  I craved candy.  A nice classy, dainty neat treat.  Every day after school at Hilcrest, I would go to the convenience store at the plaza (right next to my dentist’s office) and buy a paper bag full of candy.  

Other than the amount you could get for just seventy-five cents, what I liked most of all was the variety.  Swedish berries, Big feet, cinnamon lips, licorice fizzlers, candy cigars, Swedish fish, Popeye sticks, Double mints, fuzzy peaches, sour cherries and Tootsie Rolls.  Sugar imitating fruit is so much better than real fruit.  

Every day I would try something new.  It was like an unhealthy food fair.  But my favourite, and unfortunately the most expensive were candied cigarettes.  Chicago, New York, London.  I loved the role-playing.  Right down to the price tag, it was cigarettes without the nicotine.  I remembered the disapproving looks as I drove home pretending to smoke the lovely Popeye sticks and chocolate rolled in paper.  I snickered every time.