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.
You, only YOU, would be able to entertain us all with your junior mint expeditions. you are all entertain-y.
(ps. i have sooo done this. usually with coins. cause you know, i really NEED that dime!)
Sometimes I am all deep.
And sometimes more surfacey.
Today?
Annoyed and getting my ass kicked by a Junior Mint.
Pretty All True is my world.
It’s weird here.
Welcome.
If you happen to have a knitting needle (or a skewer of any kind, for that matter) that min’t ass is grass.
Also, “I can only caress the candy’s shiny chocolate surface with my fingertip”? You have a career waiting for you as a writer of chocolate porn. I’ll day for it. Make sure there’s lots of heaving.
Yes, I am just dipping a toe into the chocolate porn waters.
See if it’s all warm and melty.
Like the river of chocolate in Willie Wonka!
Without those nasty sucking tubes.
But with sucking.
What?
I obviously meant PAY. I’ll PAY for it.
See what you’re doing to me and my erotic chocolate-caressing fantasies?
Silly you.
I am always free.
junior mints, *sigh*
go get ‘m!
Thank you!
Done.
Yummy.
did you ever get the mint? I need to knowwwww!
I did!
Gross but yummy.
I am not going to be beaten by a mint.
Asshole mint.
OK, that still makes me giggle.
Asshole mint.
Hee hee!
HAH!
It’s a well known fact that only people with smartliness like Mint type candies. You know, peppermint patties, Girl Scout thin mints, New York Patty mints.
Yes, people, ’tis true, so don’t be looking at this comment all wonky eyed.
Cliff Claven cited it. On a random poll, those that preferred mint/chocolate type candies had more years of post secondary education than plain old straight on chocolate lovers.
So, with this blog here and the genius that runs it? I rest my case, or, the proof is in the puddin’.
Cliff Claven of Cheers?
You are awesome!
And I am all smartly and shit!
Thank you!
And Girl Scout Thin Mints?
Swoon.
THIS AGGRESSION WILL NOT STAND, MINT.
And the aggression?
Did not stand.
Sassy little mint.
Dead.
You know what’s smarter? Mother Nature. That betch is all over that Jr. Mint and melting it into your carpet as we speak. You’re going to wake up in the morning and be all “Jr. Mint. It’s facken go time” and you’re going to reach down and that bass turd is going to be all melted. Yup, Mother Nature gets us everytime.
Nope.
Mother Nature’s got nothing on me.
Not a fucking thing.
Any luck with the candy?
Has it driven you MINTal yet?
I kill myself.
You?
Are way fucking weird.
And the mint?
Eaten.
Seriously?
You had doubts?
OMG, I so fucking love you! I was laughing so hard I burped AND farted!
OK, that?
Is just awesome fucking news.
I love that!
you know…i used to teach life skills classes at our middle school.
they were for our more “mentally challenged” kids.
lemme know if you need some lessons or tips or somethin.
Smarty-pants.
I am all good.
Snort!
I can so relate. I love those little discs of minty creamy deliciousness. I love them so much I’m going to MARRY THEM (sorry, channeling my almost 5 year-old)
Hee hee!
Plus also?
Your mom?
Way fucking annoying.
Just saying.
asshole mint?!?!?!?
is that a new product?
I always have to prep myself before I come to the last of any food…so I can properly mourn the end of the eating. If I get surprised, I have to eat something else.
I imagine an asshole mint would look like an Altoid.
But larger.
And Anus Altoid.
Hee hee!
Haha, what an awesome visual! I love that you’ll eat it still. I’m very OCD about most things, but I can always eat an M&M that has fallen.
You are all over the place today!
I love you!
If this had been me, I would have pulled over at a 7-11, purchased a Peppermint Pattie (the large version…maybe that little turds mamma) and eaten it in front of him….just to show him! It was a him, right?
Of course the candy was male!
And if I had been alone and driving, I might have acted as you have suggested.
But I was with my family, and there was much mocking.
No way Mark would have taken me to 7-11 for a Peppermint Patty.
Not even.