I bought a bag of salt water taffy while out shopping with my daughter. I know what you’re thinking, ‘Wow, this blog post is going to be boring as hell. ‘ Stick with it. Trust me.
I grabbed two pieces out of the bag in the car. Five minutes later, there was a giant pile of wrappers on the passenger seat. If choking to death didn’t bother me I would’ve shoved even more in my mouth. When trying to eat candy around a child one has to unwrap at record speed and slyly raise one’s hand to the mouth without said child realizing you are eating something. It’s always good to chew, pause, chew, pause, etc. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to fake cough. If they know you are eating they will want some. Actually, they will want it all.
I had to make one more stop before heading home. As I put my foot on to the pavement I realized taffy crumbs were stuck to my pants. Actually, the crotch of my jeans looked like Hansel and Gretel’s house.
I tried to wipe the specs off, but taffy is like glue. I got inside the store and made a bee line for a quiet aisle. I stood there in a squat position, hunched over, scratching my inner thigh. A few pieces flew off. Then, I got that feeling. Somebody was watching me. I slowly raised my head to see a horrified woman staring in my direction. From her perspective there was a mother in an aisle frantically scratching her crotch while her 4-year-old daughter stood nearby. I am grateful she didn’t call Child Protective Services. I never wanted another piece of taffy again. Ah, who the hell am I kidding? I lack self control and finished that bag by morning.