Tag Archives: candy

Dear Vending Machine in the Math and Science Building

Dear Vending Machine in the Math and Science Building,

You fiend.

After months of hard, back-breaking, tongue-searing work, I have finally instilled a Pavlovian response in myself that causes me to crave sour candy every time I begin my trek from the Modern Languages building to the Math and Science building.  This has been difficult, as I have had to eat Sour Patch Kids or Sour Jacks in nearly every Statistics class period in order to achieve this outcome.  Had I not been so dedicated to this cause, I certainly wouldn’t have had a true Pavlovian response (minus the drooling).  My dedication has truly been inspiring to my peers and sour candy eaters everywhere.

But you, you conniving, horrible villain…You have ruined me.  Basically, as soon as I had developed this response, you stopped carrying sour candy.  Gone are your plastic-encased, citric-acid-coated wonders.  Gone are my dreams of  a headshot in the Pavlovian Hall of Fame.  My hopes and cravings for delicious, chewy Sour Patch Kids (and delicious, chewy success) are disappointed day after day.  My Pavlovian response weakens every time you fail to have the proper candy, keeping me from reaching my goals.

I just hope you realize the magnitude of what you have done.  I will not be speaking with you until you rectify the situation.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

P.S. No, Swedish Fish are not an acceptable replacement.

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Dear Easter Candy

Dear Easter Candy,

I am in the midst of a tumultuous love-hate relationship with you. I love your sweetness, your chocolate-covered goodness, your this-doesn’t-even-taste-that-good-but-it-reminds-me-of-my-childhood-and-I-can-only-get-it-during-the-Easter-season quality. I could speak for long minutes about my ability to eat an entire package of Whoppers Robin Eggs in three days (and I’m not referring to the puny milk cartons, either), about how Reese’s Eggs are ultimately better than any other Reese’s product found during any other time of the year, and about the fact that, though entirely disgusting, sometimes I just want a marshmallow-filled chocolate egg.

I love you quite a bit, Easter Candy. I don’t know if it’s because my mother always went to great lengths to ensure her children would go into diabetic comas come Easter evening by constructing elaborate baskets for us. It might be because my grandmother always, always, always bought large bags of SweeTarts Bunnies, Ducks and Chicks (which everyone knows are far superior to normal SweeTarts). It might even be because my various Sunday School teachers shoved altogether gross Easter candy at me on Resurrection Sunday (which really distracts from focusing on Christ, but that’s another issue entirely). I’m honestly not sure of the exact reason why I love you so much. When I ponder about this, all my brain is giving me is visions of my great-grandmother, really weird marshmallow candies and the aforementioned SweeTarts products, so I suppose I can chalk it up to nostalgia.

My love is clearly genetic. Just last night, my father told me that, “Your mother went into some sort of trance on the Easter aisle at Wal Mart and bought about twenty pounds of candy.” This indicates to me that I may never be entirely free from the affection I have for you, Easter Candy. Personally, I am unashamed in my love for you, and I don’t care how long it lasts.

However, despite the love I hold for you in my heart, there are two areas of my life that are not pleased with you and all of your sugary goodness: my waistline and my wallet. My waistline is not particularly appreciative of the fact that a peanut-butter-filled egg jumped into my hand as I walked through the grocery store last week. It is similarly dissatisfied with the ridiculous Easter Candy Feast I had about a month ago involving myself, three days, a Reese’s Egg, a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs and a bag of Whoppers Robin Eggs. It has decided that you need to go.

My wallet is also throwing a fit. The fact that I cannot walk into any grocery store that sells you without donating at least a dollar to some sort of filled egg or rabbit is annoying my wallet quite a bit. And, I have to admit, it makes a good point.

It is for their sake, my waist and my wallet, that I feel we need to spend some time apart. I love you, as you know, but it isn’t entirely healthy for me to be around you all of the time. I must bid you a temporary adieu. It will be difficult, but it is necessary.

Thanks for all of the memories and lovely, sweet goodness.

Sincerely,
Chelsea

P. S. If all goes well, we can arrange a secret meeting. This Sunday. At the Easter basket my mother has no doubt thrown together for me. Be there.