We’re out and about today, and Mark buys this ridiculously large box of Junior Mints. You know . . . chocolate outside, creamy mint on the inside.
Those.
And so we’re driving, and it’s my job to hand these candies out.
Which is lovely, because it affords me the opportunity to surreptitiously squeeze each candy as I hand them out. I hate the hard ones . . . the ones where the minty inside has dehydrated and hardened?
Ick.
So when a candy does not yield that teeny bit as I press?
“Here, Kallan. Here’s one for you.”
I have to be careful to spread the icky ones among the three other candy-having family members. And so I squeeze a few more, and then . . .
“Here, babe . . . have a couple.”
Snort!
Soon we are down to the last few mints. I sneakily squeeze the final four pieces . . . one of them is hard. I hand them out.
Sorry, Maj.
Snort!
So I am all happy . . . one last soft-centered minty candy.
And then? I drop it.
Which is no big deal, because I am so going to pick it up off of the car floor and eat it. The other day? I found an M&M on the car floor as I was cleaning out the car, and I so ate it. Didn’t give it a second thought until I saw Maj’s look of horror.
Snort!
Sadly, though? The Junior Mint has fallen down into the left side of my seat, and access is blocked by the center console.
I can see the candy sitting sassily on the top of the seat’s track mechanism, but when I try to reach my hand down to grab it?
I can only caress the candy’s shiny chocolate surface with my fingertip.
Hmmm.
I shove my hand down into that small space as hard as I can. I succeed at denting the top of the candy with my left index finger (It’s lovely and soft-centered, just as I hoped!), but there is no way to grasp the mint.
Plus? Now my hand hurts.
OK, I am smarter than a Junior Mint. I will figure this shit out.
I reach down below me and grab the release bar that allows me to shove the seat as far back as it will go. I peer down into the space.
Damn it! I have only succeeded in pushing the candy farther into the track mechanism.
Maybe if I go forward. So I shove the seat all the way forward.
Can’t even see the candy now.
Fuck.
Why does stuff like this always happen to me? Why does this have to be the last candy? Augh! I want that candy!
Backward a bit. A bit more. A bit more.
There it is!
Still can’t reach it.
Fuck!
OK, maybe it’s a little bit closer than it was before . . . maybe if I lie back in my seat and reach down into the crevice with my arm at a weird angle . . . like this.
I feel the candy give beneath my fingertip, but I cannot maneuver two fingers around it. I jab at the candy with my finger. Maybe I can impale it and bring it up that way!
I am all geniusy!
So now I am reclined way back in my seat, my left arm all shoved into the space beside me, tongue bitten between my teeth in concentration. I strain to impale the Junior Mint.
But I come up with only a small bit of chocolate trapped beneath my fingernail.
Tasty . . . but seriously? Now I am driven slightly insane at my need for this smashed filthy last bit of candy.
Stupid tease of a candy . . . get the fuck out here where I can eat you!
OK, I need a tool. I scrabble about the front of the car for a tool.
A pen! I am a genius!
I will nudge the candy out onto the carpeted floor of the car.
But the fucking pen is impossible to hold as I shove my hand into this space. I jab wildly at air. First from this angle, and then from that angle.
Nothing.
And so I lean all the way forward in my seat, down into the floor space . . . to see if I can approach the problem from below.
Jab . . . jab . . . jab.
Jab.
And now?
The candy has been cut in half. Severed against the track mechanism. One half falls into the track and out of my view. The other half is stuck to the side of the track, and maybe if I could get my hand just a little farther into this space?
A little farther?
I could reach it.
I am doubled over in my seat now . . . I turn my head sideways to allow my arm to extend a bit farther.
And then?
I see three sets of eyes staring at me in silent puzzlement.
Crap.
I try to explain from my awkward contorted position, “I was . . . ummm . . . just trying to get a piece of candy I dropped. How long has the car been parked, anyway?”
The girls giggle.
Mark looks at me, “Long enough, babe. Long enough.”
Sigh.
He continues, “You remember that discussion we had about how there should be classes for stupid people? Classes in basic life skills? Yeah . . . we need to find you a class.”
Mark is annoying.
I am not stupid.
I just need a longer pen. Or some way of removing the passenger seat from the car.
I am all geniusy!
Or at least?
Smarter than a Junior Mint.
I so fucking am.
Updates to follow.
Welcome to your own personal Waterloo.
Don’t fuck with me.
I will prevail.
Your funny little Napoleonic hat is already in the mail.
And you’ve got the short thing down already, so…
You may have my number?
But you do not have my address.
So pfffftttttt to you.
Are you so sure?
Are you?
Bwah hah hah!
Your evil laugh would be more convincing if I didn’t know what I know.
So there.
I know what you think you know.
But I know what I know you know I know.
So yeah.
Out-logic that one!
We should talk.
Work this shit out.
Snort.
I’ll call you.
We can get on that.
Excellent.
I am all for getting on that.
Junior mints are known to be the smartest of the theater type candies. Something to do with them seeing so many movies and such.
It’s true. Google it.
The fact that you are smarter than they are is very impressive.
No really.
This small candy burrowed down into the workings of our minivan?
It thinks it has won.
But I will triumph.
I am smarter than a Junior Mint.
Sigh.
Buy a whole new box and eat it right in front of that rascally mint.
That’ll teach him.
But then I will have to drive this asshole mint to the store.
He will be all mocking.
Nope.
He must be consumed.
Also?
Snort!
Asshole mint.
“I am smarter than a Junior Mint”
You so fucking are.
Love you!
In my mind, the eyes of your family are like the eyes of the Night Watchman’s wife in Goodnight Gorilla, big and surprised and floating in the dark.
I’m maybe in an odd place tonight?
That is perfect!
Their heads were actually visible when they stared at me all surprised and curious and mocking.
But their eyes?
To me?
Just Like the eyes in Goodnight Gorilla.
YES.
It’s rewarding when my knowledge of children’s literature is relevant somewhere outside of my work life!
Let me know if we need to send heavy lifting equipment to get that candy…
That would be an extreme measure . . .
Lifting the minivan upside down and shaking it until the mint is released.
However, if that becomes necessary?
I will let you know.
A Junior Mint is so worth the effort. I hate the hard crusty ones too.
See?
It is worth the effort.
Even if it is severed and smashed and tainted with dirt and oil?
I am going to have that candy.
Plus also?
I am all fucking sane.
And I may wait until Mark and the girls have gone to bed.
I have a flashlight.
Don’t let them judge you. A piece of candy lost is one less piece of candy in the world. And that’s unacceptable.
Exactly.
You get me.
This situation cannot stand.
A skittle tried to pull the same shit on me once. I laughed in his face and then ate him and all his friends. It was a good trip home.
Yes!
That’s what I want!
Death to the candy!
And then a good ride.
What?
What?
::snickers::
Plus also?
Snickers?
Delicious candy bar.
Just saying.
I am smarter than a junior mint….
Funniest thing I have read. Ever. Seriously.
Giggling over here, imagining poor Maj cringing as you performed cirque du soleil-esqe moves to get the damn mint.
Smarter than a junior mint you are, brilliant!!
I am smarter than a Junior Mint.
Damn it.
I am.
Annoying.
Stupid wily fucking candy.
This cracked me up mostly because I have actually gotten my hand trapped between my seat and the console from doing that same thing. It’s always the BEST ONE that goes there, too.
The best and last candy?
Is always the smartest and most evil of the candies.
I have found.
And how long was your hand trapped?
Giggle.
I’m not sure I should tell you. Suffice to say, I had a nasty bruise and not a great story to explain it away with.
OK, then.
You are going to have to leave it to my imagination.
And in my imagination?
You are trapped in the car, and your husband tries to free you, but eventually?
Gives up and tries to flag down passing motorists.
No one stops.
And so he calls 911.
And the firemen arrive on a big shiny red truck, and one of the fireman (who looks a lot like Denis Leary) reaches in over you to see what he can do. Your face brushes against his uniformed chest as he tries to assist you and you inhale deeply. He smells of oranges and pizza and sweat. He climbs into the car with you and explores your trapped arm, and as his fingers touch your skin?
You shudder with tension, but also?
Delight.
Your husband is busy climbing the fire truck and setting off the sirens like a small happy child, by the way.
Back in the car? There is the weight of this man, this rescuer . . . and the closeness of him as he maneuvers within the small space.
And then there is oil. Lovingly applied to your hand and arm by Denis Leary’s hands. He is very gentle, and he speaks soothing words to calm you.
You are very close and breaths mingle and you lean in a bit so that his hair brushes your cheek.
Your heart races.
And then your arm slips free, and for a moment?
You allow it to drape over the shoulder of the man who is too close, too heavy, too much.
And then your husband honks the firetruck’s horn and blares the sirens . . . and the spell is broken.
Was it like that?
Because that would be a great fucking story.
OMG. It was almost EXACTLY like that.
Except the firetruck was yellow.
And the fireman looked like Tom Arnold.
The color was yellow?
Fine.
But Tom Arnold?
Let me think . . . a tighter closer more intimate fit within the confines of your car . . . yes, that works for me.
But he must not speak.
At all.
okay.
i am laughing my fuckin ass off.
tom arnold???
I know, right?
Law momma’s a freak.
Imagine if you were driving – cuz you KNOW you would be doing the same thing! At least, I would!
I am short.
And so if I were driving?
We would have to pull over to the side of the road.
So that I could do candy battle.
Otherwise?
We would run off the road.
And that’s not good.
Plus also?
Candy giggles when you crash.
I have done this same thing with a french fry once. Clearly I won. When I did it with the car keys tho…well, I did eventually prevail…mostly because I had to sit in the fucking car – unable to go anywhere, or unlock the house to get a spare key – until I got the bastards.
Sometimes? It’s easier if you lay on the floor behind the front seat & reach in that way. Flank the fucker.
Flank the fucker?
Love that!
Bu then I would have been revealed to my family as a complete and utter loon.
Oh, but wait.
That happened anyway.
So next time?
Flanking and fucking.
Snort!
You. Need. A. Hobby. ;)
Snort!
I have so many hobbies!
My favorite?
Fucking with people.
Watch out, you!
Today’s post leaves me with just one thought:
“wtf?”
And I know you don’t like abbreviations so I’ll spell it out for you.
“What the fuck????”
The score:
Junior Mint: 1
Kris: 0
:)
Sigh.
I know.
Sometimes I am all ridiculous.
Although “What the fuck?”
Always makes me smile.
It just does.
As do you.
Yes, dear, OF COURSE you are smarter than a Junior Mint.
Patting you on the head now.
Will you clean out my car? Lots of tasty morsels in there!
Well, aren’t you sassy and head-pattingly superior?
I am not a dog.
Although I will fucking bite you.
Be careful!
Smarter than a Junior Mint? You are of Course. But are you smarted than a Thin Mint? Hmmm.
Anyway, Archive styles. Please look at Yarn Harlot & Crazy Aunt Purl. They list the archives by month and then in the month all the postings so you don’t have to keep resetting. It looks like this:
August 2010
July 2010
June 2010
Etc
Thanks to Mark if he can change this.
Mark has made me an Archives page that now is linkable from the top of my blog.
But I will check out the blog you mentioned.
And Thin Mints?
Those babies are too large to effectively hide in the car.
I am way smarter than a Thin Mint.
I borrowed the ACME catalog from the Coyote but no luck in finding the candy retrieval gadget. I’ll get right on hiring a team of engineers to design something.
And also, this lone Junior Mint’s will-to-survive would make a great Lifetime movie.
Ooooh . . . a Lifetime movie!
I love that idea!
Although, do Lifetime movies often end in tragedy?
Because this mint? Both halves?
Conquered and eaten.
Yum.
Cue the triumphant poignant Lifetime music!
I was recently caught telling a piece of paper I was trying to slide into one of those protector thingies…
“GO IN, YOU STUPID FUCKING PAPER! YOU? are paper. I? am a human. I am smarter than your stupid ass self and I will get you in this dumb plastic sleeve!”
Then I looked up and there was Cort looking at me like I had lost my damn mind.
What?
Happy sighs!
We are sisters.
I too am smarter than paper.
YAY!