Don’t Touch The Candy!: A Traumatic Childhood Experience

I’ve been this way for majority of my life. I don’t care for candy… or anything sweet for that matter. For a long time I wasn’t sure why but figured it wasn’t that big an issue. I mean, I like the cherry gummy things… But I don’t eat that stuff. Maybe I want to have a taste of them every now and then…

Look at them. Just look at them.

Look at them. Just look at them.

But I don’t.

Obviously I’ve started thinking about it. What could be behind this? I used to like ice cream until I worked at the Gracie Mansion for a summer and ended up scooping approximately 20,000 scoops of ice cream for the season. (I may be exaggerating) In any event, no more ice cream. Perhaps I am sensitive and easily traumatized  Nah – can’t be, I’ve eaten poisoned Taco Bell and  I will still go south of the border.

Well I think I have figured it out; I can trace my candy issue back to 1983 in Leimen, Germany. We lived above a little market area, bunch of cute little stores which I loved to look around in. Everybody was real nice as I recall, I had a lovely overall time living in Germany and I considered it home for many many years.

market

 

One day in the candy shop, I think I was having a bit of a struggle deciding what I wanted. Then from out of nowhere, the old wicked witch of a hag storekeeper devil woman was on me like white on rice… I guess I was rummaging a bit.

Image

This is how I think she looked.

This woman smacked my hand like it was her final deed on this planet.  I couldn’t believe it.  I would have cursed her out had I known any curse words… instead I just stared at her for a couple seconds then called her an anti-Semite old bag. My dad chimed in to inform me that we weren’t Jewish. OK the last 17 words didn’t happen, but totally could have.  After I stared at her I looked up at my dad with that expression.. you know the “how you gonna let this witch smack the color off my hand” look. This guy was smiling, my own father… my own flesh and blood, smiling at me. What happened to protecting me? What happened to never letting anything happen to me? I was innocent and defenseless, how could he?

Dear old pop, the great purveyor of life’s lessons.

 So I did what any self-respecting, proud 3 year-old would do. I started crying.

dave1

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Drained squirrel becomes stuck in man-hole cover | The Sun |News

“Are you really taking a picture of me right now?” – That squirrel right there^

 

Drained squirrel becomes stuck in man-hole cover | The Sun |News.

Via The Sun:

THIS little creature got into squir-hell after it became trapped in a storm drain.

The cute nut-eater had to be rescued by emergency workers after it got stuck in the middle of a road in Germany.

It attempted to fit through a hole in the drain, but only managed to squeeze its head through the small gap.

Police in the town of Isernhagen were called out by a worried motorist after he nearly ran over the squirrel.

They prised up the drain and tried to pop him out but he would not budge.

After 15 minutes of effort the rodent was eventually freed when a caring housewife provided a bottle of OLIVE OIL.

One policeman said: “We wanted to take him to a vet’s for a check-up, but he was having none of it.”

“He legged it straight away into a garden and up a tree, which is where he belongs I suppose.”

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OK so I have highlighted my favourite parts of this article.  “The cute nut-eater” was also the nickname for the easy girl in my high school. Glorious gal, I of course know that through hearsay.

“It attempted to fit through a hole in the drain, but only managed to squeeze its head through the small gap.” – Look at the cute little rascal… sorry fella, your whiskers don’t work. You were dealt a rough hand.

They “tried to pop him out”  – Clearly we need the video link for this one. How many burly police officers does it take to pop a little rodent out of a storm drain cover? More than were on the scene… or just one housewife with plenty of lube.

“eventually freed when a caring housewife provided a bottle of OLIVE OIL.” – For the record, as she approached with the oil they thought she wanted to cook the poor thing. Why olive oil you ask? Why not.

“We wanted to take him to a vet’s for a check-up, but he was having none of it.” – “Hey little fella, do you want to go to the vet?” “No, I’ll have none of that,  thank you”