Yippee! It’s Tiny Candy Time!
Indeed, October is the best. It has Thanksgiving. It has coloured leaves. It has apple cider and misty mornings and cozy nights by the fire.
But it also has Tiny Candy Time, which extends the whole month through. During TCT, the O’Henry shrinks, as does the Mars bar, Twix and Kit-Kat. Only during TCT can a miniature packet of Skittles be had, or a teeny package of Twizzlers. You can’t come by the small stuff in June.
Heck, it’s adorable, and I pick it up in bulk.
“What do you have there?” asked the husband the other day.
I had just returned from the grocery store.
“Oh, nothing special,” I said. “You know. Milk. Cheerios. Spinach. Laundry detergent.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, peering inside one of my shopping bags. “Isn’t that a bag of Tootsie Rolls?”
“They’re for Halloween,” I said. “Stay away.”
This is the thing. I may be fond of TCT, but the husband’s a fan with a capital F. He looks forward to October the way a grade-schooler looks forward to summer.
And no, he isn’t one to be picky. Never would he turn aside Starbursts in favour of Junior Mints or Swedish Berries in favour of Sour Patch Kids. When it comes to TCT, he spreads the love around.
“So,” he said, “where are you hiding it this year?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said. “If I did, it wouldn’t be hidden.”
This is how it goes. I buy the stuff — in part, because it’s so darned cute — then have to stash it wherever.
Each year, it’s a brand-new challenge to outwit the husband.
“You putting it under the kitchen window seat again?” he asked.
“No way,” I said. “That’s too obvious. Anyway, I already told you that I can’t tell you where it’s going.”
Year after year, I have to be more inventive. Only problem is, I can’t always remember where I stow it.
Last February, for instance, I found a bag of Caramilk bars behind my canning equipment in the laundry room. Two months later, there was a sack of Snickers: in the snow tires in the shed.
This year, I’m intent on being creative, but I’m also determined to place the TC in a spot that I’ll remember.
Inside the washing machine? Completely impractical. In an empty cereal box? The husband would find it, no problem.
I could put the cache in my golf bag, but chances are, I wouldn’t find it until next spring.
And so, I’m now thinking I may hide the Tiny Candy within my plastic rain boots, all three pairs of them. The husband is unlikely to seek it out there, and I’m unlikely to forget the stash — given the odds of a sprinkle in October. I may need another secret spot, perhaps even two.
There’s still time to pick up the small stuff. It’s so darling, I just can’t resist.
