The Candy Store Fiasco 2: Havana Nights

English: Candies, Covered Market, Barcelona, S...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For those who did not read my blog yesterday, you will be very lost. Before you go on to what is certain to be a rousing and incredibly entertaining post, please go back and read. We’ll wait.






Okay. Everybody should be caught up. We can continue.


I slowly made my way around the bins to the corner of the store. There my wife and sister stood, contemplating a bag of sugar-free sour worms.

“Hey,” I whispered, hoping the sounds of Ke$ha or Lady Gaga or Katy Perry or Carly Rae Jepsen or whoever it was that was currently singing a terrible, terrible song would drown me out. I glanced over my shoulder to see what the keepers of the candy were doing. They had momentarily forgotten about me, choosing to turn their attention towards another poor soul who had gotten sucked into their gummy trap.

My wife and sister turned to me, smiling. The smile slowly faded, though, as they saw the seriousness on my face.

“I need you to go get a bag,” I hissed.

“Why?” my sister asked.

I explained it to her as quickly as possible. “There were a bunch of gummies and I wanted one of each of them, so I got a few, then it was too much money and I am not a Rockefeller so I can not afford an entire world of gummies, so now I need you to go get a bag because the keepers won’t let me put them back and I have to get rid of some.”

I don’t know whether she understood what I was saying or just figured that getting a bag was the best way to shut me up, but either way my plan was set into motion.

She brought the bag to the corner. As she opened it, I looked again. The candy keepers were busy chatting when the one on the right suddenly snapped her head up, locking eyes with me.

“I know what you’re up to,” she seemed to say to me. “There is a reason I took a Krav Maga class at my gym and it has very little to do with physical fitness. Go ahead and give it a try.”

I shuddered a bit, then got back to the business at hand. There was no time to hesitate. The keeper could be over here in just a second to beat me to death with her tiny, candy-guarding fists.

As my sister held the bag open, I prepared to begin the process of moving some candy over. My thought process was as such: I would take a fraction of the candy I had bagged. The rest would be left in a convenient hiding place as I made my way out the door with my newfound sugary goods. It was such a simple procedure. I began to move the candy when…


The sound made my sister and I jump. I turned to see that my wife had accidentally knocked a chocolate bar the size of a Volvo off of a shelf. The employees glanced, but went back to their business as if nothing had happened. I started in again on my procedure.


“Sorry,” said the voice behind me as four or five more chocolate bars fell to the floor. Despite my wife putting on her one woman reenactment of “Abbot and Costello Buy Some Chocolate,” we were left alone. I quickly moved my share of the candy over and placed the bag between a stack of candy mustaches and a large selection of rice based Asian candy.

We quickly made our way to the checkout. I tried my best to look casual.

“Oh, look! Chocolate!” I said to my wife because it’s a natural reaction to be surprised by chocolate in a candy store. I might as well have said “I would like to buy this and I swear I didn’t hide a decent amount, probably $5 worth, of candy over there by those candy mustaches.”

She rang up my sweets and I darted to the door, narrowly escaping.

The rest of the evening was spent walking through the mall eating candy and discussing flatulence. That’s what adults do, after all. With the work that I put in to get that candy, I would say that those gummies were better than any I have ever had before.

All except for the fried egg gummy. That one was definitely a mistake.


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