My kids love to hear stories from when I was young and awesome and in high school.
Yesterday, I told Little E a real yawner about the summer I worked at a candy shop in the mall.
My duties included deep frying cashews, making chocolate covered pretzels, and refilling the candy and nut bins.
It was a pretty pimp job for the summer and paid a very livable salary of $4.25/hour, which I subsidized with eating my weight in all sorts of gummy products. I'd eat anything in a gummy form. I did not, nor would I, ever discriminate based on size, shape, or color.
With the exception of one piece of candy, which I will refer to from now on as the evil gummy bear.
One evening, as I shoveled fresh gummy bears into the bin (and maybe some into my mouth), I noticed something unusual. I thought maybe a piece of licorice had found its way into the soft, sweet goodness of the gummy bear bag.
Upon closer examination, it had scary, mean eyebrows and a look that could stop my candy-eating a** dead in her tracks.
What was this thing? How did this one evil candy get lost during production and where did it belong? Was there a whole line of evil licorice gummy bears that I didn't know about? Was this a sign regarding my decision to attend UF after graduation?
But as a 17 year old, I wasn't mature enough to delve into these deep thoughts.
Instead, I licked the bottom of it and stuck it to the top of the cash register, where it stayed for the remainder of my employment (and possibly still)!
The boys were FASCINATED by this story. They were even a tad frightened by the idea of an evil gummy bear.
Today, when Little E got off the bus, he couldn't wait to tell me that he told his teacher all about the evil gummy bear.
So thanks for that, Little E. Now your teacher knows that I'm straight up crazy and I'll be keeping the rest of my mundane high school stories to myself.