Sunday, November 11, 2007

Penny Lane

This afternoon, my girlfriend dragged this procrastinating bum out of its apartment to go for a walk and "get rid of our squish." It was sunny and blue skies and smelled like fall and fires and pine. I was happy to be away from the taunting stare of my computer screen and burning up some of the lard I've eaten in the past few months. It's not welcome here anymore. Please find a new home. You've been evicted.

Near the end of our walk, we stumbled upon an old-fashioned (but actually new and shiny) penny candy store. Bliss! We hurried inside and stood in awe at all the jars. Swedish Fish. Mary Jane's. Strawberry Things. Delicious Things. Out of breath, we huffed: "We'll! Be! Back!" The lady behind the counter looked conflicted. Happy we were interested in her store, fearful of our high creep factor. We left, but didn't stop looking back until we'd walked another block. I blew a little kiss goodbye.

Nothing holds more excitement for me than little stores that sell little things for little amounts of money. When we were little, my brother and I had Candy Day. It came once a week, usually on Friday. This cut down on us begging for something sweet every time we went shopping with our Mom and managed expectations for everyone involved. One Wednesday, Amy, age 6ish, decided she wanted her candy early. My Mom reiterated over and over to me that if I ate my candy early, it meant I wouldn't get candy on Friday. Sure, sure, sure, I said. Bring on the Skittles. I got my sugar coma early and two days later, when it was time for Real Candy Day, I threw a full fledged temper tantrum. Tears, screams, punches, death threats. Which goes to show you, nothing comes between me and my foods. Hence, the squish.

(Word Count = 16,782. Plugging away.)


  1. Skittles - not a good Amy food - trust me.

  2. The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh momth


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