You see, one of the items in the goody bag was a Little Mermaid Pez dispenser. Across the room, I spied Daughter 2 opening her goody bag and then her little mouth dropped wide open. Her little eyes became wide, and she slowly raised her head until her gaze met my gaze. She gingerly grabbed her goody bag and straight away made her path to my side.
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| Ariel's mugshot |
"Momma," she whispered so as to not offend (or tip off) the birthday girl's momma who was sitting beside me on the couch. "She gave us Pez. Pez, Momma!" And then, for the first time since spotting the offensive candy, she blinked. "What should I do?"
Now, the truth is that if this child KNEW Pez was candy, she'd have been trying to figure out a way to scam every other single child out of her fun little dispenser. But she didn't KNOW Pez was candy. She thought it was something horrible... like cayenne pepper or crystal meth.
I don't know where she got that impression!
OK, fine. I do know. I'm a liar. Let me explain: When she happens to go to Hellmart with me (which is about every other time, which is about every other day!), we enter the seventh circle of Dante's Inferno when we stand in the checkout line. It's in this circle where we'll find hundreds and hundreds of junky crap that's priced approximately 10,000 times its worth and Daughter 2 wants ALL of it. Our conversations while standing in line go like this:
Daughter 2: Can I have this?
Me: No
Daughter 2: Why?
Me: It's bad.
Daughter 2: Why?
Me: It's gross.
Daughter 2: Why?
Me: It'll make you sick and the police will arrest you.
Daughter 2: Oh. Can I have this?
(Repeat ad nauseum)
So, when Daughter 2 discovered the Pez in her goody bag, she just knew that the birthday girl's momma was a pusher. (And in a way, she was... she sugared my kids up then pushed them right out the door!)
I explained to Daughter 2 that Pez was just candy and maybe I just hadn't understood her question. (It's plausible - she's an incessant talker and I probably didn't know exactly what she was asking about.) I assured her and reassured her and reassured her yet again. I put the candy in the dispenser and even ate one of the little Pez pieces right from Ariel's neck. And despite these assurances, she still didn't taste the candy.
"But you said they were gross," she countered. "You said they were bad for you. You said I could be arrested if I had one."
"Yeah, well..." I stammered, "They're alright now."
After we left the party, she quizzed me on the way home. "Momma, are you sure it's alright to eat these things?"
"Yes, baby girl," I confessed, "I probably just didn't want to spend extra money on a plastic candy dispenser, so I told you it was bad for you. I was not honest. I'm sorry, and Pez candies are perfectly alright."
For the first time in about five and a half years, she was silent as we drove home. She kept the Pez dispenser tucked away in the goody bag. When I pulled into the driveway, she looked at me and said, "I think I'll give my Pez dispenser to someone else. I just don't want to be caught with something so dangerous. I don't want to go to jail!"
"You're such a good girl," I complemented her as I snagged the candies right out of her grubby little hand. If my eating candy is what it takes to keep my baby girl out of jail, I'll do it...
