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One of the great things about being an adult is that I can eat all the candy I want, and mom won’t tell me it’ll rot my teeth.
My dentist does that now, and my HMO isn’t happy about it.
Back when I was little, the few remaining penny candy stores were still in business, and I would beg mom and dad to take me every Sunday after the matinee to the local store — the appropriately named “Mr. Rotten’s Candy Shop.”
I had a ball at Mr. Rotten’s…or rather, a gum ball. And a Bit-O-Honey. And a piece of Bazooka. And whatever else I could scrounge up with the dime my father’d give me.
If he was particularly jovial, he’d toss me a quarter and watch me go nuts. I’m convinced he did it more to see me lose my mind than anything else, but I didn’t care: There was candy to be had!
I still buy penny candies whenever I get a chance, though they are sadly no longer a penny. Though mom isn’t around to scare me with tales of spoiled appetites, I’m glad I still have my wife to do that now.
Just don’t tell her about the stash of Gummi Bears I keep in the closet.
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