It started off innocuously enough. I was watching 2-year-old Ty and our oldest daughter, Jessica, turned to me and offhandedly said, “Oh, here,” handing me the tiniest little box of Milk Duds. Now, I should tell you here and now I’m not a Milk Dud girl. They’re extremely chewy, and you’re still chewing long after you don’t want to be chewing anymore. But they are chocolate, and when you are desperate for chocolate and have nothing else, you are stuck. And I mean stuck. Literally.
I open the little tiny box and peer in. There are four Milk Duds. This is only slightly more useless than the snack cellophane bag you get on airplanes that contains eight peanuts. (Yes, I counted, don’t you?) I take a Milk Dud out and pop it into Ty’s mouth. His eyes open wide as his mouth fills with the unmistakable flavor of chocolate candy. He begins salivating and his lips are instantly covered with sticky goo. Ty is rolling that Milk Dud all around in his mouth and licking his lips, and finally, spits the Milk Dud into my hand.
He immediately wants another one. I wipe his face with a damp cloth, and produce a fresh Milk Dud. “Chew it this time,” I command, popping another one in his mouth. He smiles that gooey dribbly two-year-old smile, and runs off to play with his monster trucks. I close up the little box with two Milk Duds remaining and place it in my purse. That was a big mistake.
Later that day, I’m off to work. My office door is locked, but my keys are right in my purse. I’m searching, searching and there’s no little jingle jangle of my keys to tell me where they are. I empty my purse slowly. I take out things one by one, including the little box of Milk Duds with now only one Milk Dud remaining. I have a sinking feeling. There is a loose Milk Dud in my purse.
My purse is a Hobo, the color of “vapor,” a wistful pale blue. I now see my keys, yet I cannot lift them. They are firmly connected to the bottom of my beloved handbag. I lift one key from the group, pull hard, and the bottom of the handbag comes up with it. The entire keychain is glued to the bottom of my purse by a Milk Dud, which has completely flattened and affixed itself to all the remaining contents of my purse.
If you consider that one Milk Dud is but a centimeter in diameter, what are the physical properties of this candy that allow it to stretch out and flatten into a three-inch patty? (Another question comes to mind: Could Milk Duds be used for a good purpose? Could this material be utilized in building roads? Could it prevent potholes or cracks in asphalt? I think we should explore that possibility.)
It took three days til I could find 45 minutes to address this looming issue with warm water and a scrub brush.
As I peel this three-inch glue-like concoction carefully from the bottom of my purse, I extricate additional items which have now become attached to this material, my gray pearl necklace, which I carelessly flung in my purse, sixty two cents in small change, a Euro, the rest of my keys, a PC memory stick, a Revlon compact and one ATM card. I don’t know whether I feel like Mary Poppins, pulling floor lamps out of a carpet bag or the archeologists who found human sacrifices to the goddess of fertility in ancient bogs, or the Smilodon californicus, “the most famous of all sabre-toothed tigers,” attracted to the La Brea tar pits and preserved for all eternity in those murky depths. In fact, a flattened Milk Dud looks suspiciously like the material found in the La Brea tar pits.
In any case, with the impending Trick-or-Treat holiday, I just thought you should be warned: watch out for those little tiny boxes of chocolate candy. Milk Duds are evil.
I’m really more of a Milky Way girl myself.
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