Last night I was at Wal-Mart very late. I was on an errand to buy some stuff Rich needs for work, but couldn't find anything on the list. I came home with eight things that were not on my list. Gotta love Wal-Mart. I apologized to the poor Wal-Mart people for being one of crazy people who shop when normal people sleep.
While in the check-out line, my eye caught on a Snickers bar. My first thought was congratulatory. In my 20s, I'd often grab a Snickers at the check-out line and wolf it down on the way to the car. Now that I'm a mother trying to teach my kids to avoid such gluttony, I rarely indulge. I know what's in it, and I know it won't truly make me happy.
But this time the package called to me. Not just a Snickers, but a Fudge Snickers. Only available for a limited time, it said. So I grabbed it and bought it, secretly wondering if perhaps this new flavor of Snickers would make me happy like so many other Snickers before hadn't. I also secretly hoped that perhaps if I did something my 20-something self used to do, then perhaps I would remember what it felt like to be that hopeful girl, still living under the delusion that in my 30s I would be much wiser and disciplined and confident.
News flash: The Fudge Snickers was a disappointment, of course. But it did feel cozy and reminiscent to eat the whole thing with a tall glass of milk, in bed with my book, while the whole house slept in oblivion. Maybe next time I'll get a caramel Snickers and it will do the trick.
