Growing up, I spent a few years in a country where Halloween was Not a Thing. To compensate, American families such as my own would throw parties where, in lieu of Trick or Treating, parents just handed kids giant sacks of candy. For the record, we had no problem with this compromise.
The year I broke into double-digits, when the time came to divvy up our shares of sweets, I found that my stake in this claim was noticeably bereft. Where was my trash bag full of Tootsie Rolls? My mother, genuinely taken aback by my taken abackness, explained that, well, since I had had a whole decade of getting when it was good, it was now time to move on and let my brother and sister have their fun.
And with that, my candy days were over.
Since then, I’ve added “your candy days are over” to my go-to list of unsolicited advice stock phases, referring to any time that you unexpectedly find yourself on the other side of a sudden and irrevocable shift in maturity.
One day clocking in that 60th hour Black Ops while blind drunk on a Tuesday is completely acceptable behavior, and the next—your candy days are over—and it isn’t.
Which isn’t at all a bad thing. Candy should really only taste good when you’re at the right age for candy. Going to a beer tasting and say, actually tasting the beer is a hell of a lot of fun, just like what taking first place in Edward Fortyhands was.
So if you’ve suddenly found yourself candy-less, don’t despair—life’s got more riches than Ring Pops.
But until then, enjoy every Charleston Chew.