This Is Going To Be A Problem

Hello! I came this close to flashing my nether regions to my neighbors this morning!

I also went grocery shopping! Without my wallet! This unfortunate fact became crystal clear while standing in the checkout line. Did I mention it was 5pm? Clearly not the best time to interact with the masses while wrangling a toddler, since most early evening grocery shoppers HATE BABIES.

Let’s drink. And eat candy.

I’m forming a bad habit. A habit that involves Haribo Gummi Bears, which frankly, is surprising, given the lack of candy around our house.

You see, D hates candy. He loves chocolate, but the sugary Willy Wonka-type stuff makes him quite surly. In fact, I have a theory that he’s suppressed some horrible, nightmarish memory involving candy from his childhood. I mean, he’s just so WEIRD about it, all up in my face, “Did you BUY those Lemonheads? Huh? How did THAT happen?”

Freak.

During a parental visit several years ago, we happened upon a fantastic candy shop. Of course, MY family (owners of the infamous candy drawer) started salivating like dogs at the thought of salt water taffy, imported black licorice (blech, but my dad loves it) and old school delights. As we sprinted towards the candy baskets, D stood outside the entrance looking like he had just smelled a vicious fart. I asked him what his deal was, and he responded, “I think I’ll just wait out here. I mean, it’s CANDY.” (insert judgemental snobbery)

LIKE ENTERING THE CANDY SHOP WAS SO BENEATH HIM. He stood outside the entire time. (Probably checking out his reflection in the candy shop window.)

Sometimes, I wonder about my mental faculties on the day I accepted his marriage proposal.

However, I must admit, I think he’s on to something. Whenever I eat candy, I always feel like shit afterwards- my stomach cramps, my head aches, etc. So, we just don’t buy it. The end.

Well, as I was perusing the aisles of Target a couple of weeks ago, I notice some Haribo Gummi Bears beckoning me from afar. I figured what the hell, threw them in the cart, and brought those puppies home with me.

Somehow, these Gummi Bears have become candied encouragement while practicing my guitar. (Did I mention I am taking classical guitar lessons? And that it’s killing me slowly? Yet, I CAN’T QUIT YOU, RAMÓN.) Every time I screw up (which is A LOT OF THE TIME), I pop one in my mouth and carry on like a wayward son.

My whole point is this:

My tummy hurts. Send help.