My allowence in the early 1970s was $1 a week. And to earn extra money my friends and I would go door to door asking for any empty coke bottles. We'd then stash them for the week and come Saturday morning haul out the bottles to the nearest 7-11 and redeem them for coins.
And the fun part began: deciding what candy to buy. I'm a big candy freak. I'd rather eat a chocolate bar then having a glass of beer, drugs or, dare I say, even engage in sex.
I've been disappointed in sex, giving and receiving. I've gotten sick with way too much alcohol in my system. And as for drugs, I was never rich enough, brave enough or stupid enough to try it.
But one little Snickers bar or Baby Ruth and I'm in heaven. Sure, I'm missing several crowns that have popped out my mouth and some place in my head is a cracked tooth and I think it's due to my candy bar habit, but it's a small price to pay for a tiny bit of momentary happiness.
I long ago gave up so many dreams. Whether through fear or lack of money, sheer laziness on my part, or just plain not smart enough, candy will always and forever more be there when the going gets tough, it's raining cats and dogs, or "hanging in there, baby."
Snickers or Twix?