When Chris' sister, Liz, and her gang were visiting earlier this month, we made a trip down to Main street to this amazing candy shop.
I love the Chocolate Moose because they have Swedish fish, and huge glass jars of liquorish, and these weird dry, smarties-like lollipops that I used to get at the canteen at Camp Ton-A-Wondah, (yet another all-girls, religious experience of my youth. They played Frank Sinatra's version of 'Our father' over the loudspeaker every night.)
Anyway, the store always puts me into this dreamy, hopped-up sugar state, until I inevitably bump into the jar full of these chalky delights:
Necco wafers — the first things I ever stole. A three-year-old version of me slipped them in my Holly Hobby bag while at the candy shop in the lobby of the Boca Raton hotel and cabana club. They tasted amazing, but quickly bittered when my mother made her discovery. We had long since left the club and returned to my grandmother's, but she packed me back up in the car, then marched me up to the sweet, elderly clerk to apologize and return what was left of them. Holy mortification.
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Something these monkeys are clearly not feeling in this moment.
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