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To explain the ending of this post, I have to start with two anecdotes that serve as back story.

1. Have you ever noticed that you buy the kind of Halloween candy mix you want to eat? And that you tend to cheat on your favorites before Trick or Treat-ers come around, or else place them at the bottom of the bowl, so that if some candy bars are left over it will be the M&M’s or Reeses Peanut Butter Cups? At our house, the ones nobody reaches for first are: 3 Musketeers (boring), Milky Ways (boring with caramel), and Crunch—A poor attempt to compete with the Mr. Goodbar. Like nobody notices the difference between crisped rice pieces and peanuts?

2. I’m apologizing up front for this one, especially if you like black jelly beans (there is no internet data as to what percentage of you do).

Years ago, when we were foster parents, for 18 months an adorable, curly-haired, blond two-year-old named Quinton lived with us. Quinton was born with fetal alcohol syndrome, which among other things, meant he didn’t learn well. Giving him consequences was ineffective, because he wouldn’t understand. But he was so good-natured, and tried so hard to please, that he was rarely naughty anyway. One day our DH came home with a gourmet blend of jelly beans. He handed them out one-by-one for us to savor. Quinton watched us get excited over piňa colada or strawberry cheesecake jelly beans. When he held out his hand for one, my DH gave him what nobody wanted—a black one.

Actually, by his expression, neither did Quinton. But he ate it bravely and studied our faces, confused that we would like them. Then he held out his hand tentatively to try another one, perhaps hoping for better results.

I promise that I protested through the whole episode, but the devil was in my DH that day and he gave Quinton another black one. Poor child ate it also, still confused. (DH has since felt remorse over his actions that day and if he ever meets Quinton, he’ll make amends.)

So today after dinner, with no desert readily available, DH went to the hidden (not sure who we’re hiding it from) Halloween stash. He brought out an M&M’s for him and me and something else for our granddaughter. “I won’t give her black jelly beans,” he said (as if that made it right), “but I have no qualms about giving her a Crunch bar.”

Interestingly, she didn’t ask for a second one.

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