Red Room Where the Writers Are

Zombie puppy

     The puppy is a glutton for candy corn.  I mistakenly toss her a couple kernels from the seventy-five-percent-off Halloween sale bag and it’s an instant addiction.  Quick, dial the support group!  She craves More!  More!  More!  The normal doggie repertoire of tricks --- sit, lie down, roll over, give paw --- has always been terribly beneath her, but now she lurches into a staggering display.  She makes me dizzy.  No ballet moves here.  She’s in it to win it.   

     She’s beside herself with greed.  “I don’t want these stinking MilkBones.  Gimme candy corn.  It’s absolutely dee-lish.  And it’s healthy.  After all, it is a vegetable.”

     As I deftly squirrel away a couple bags into the cabinet beyond her reach, I point out to her, “No, it’s not.  It’s just sugar.  There’s no vegetable in it.  It’s not really corn.”

     “So what’s in sugar, anyway?  What’s that made of?  It’s your job to know these things.”  She snatches the empty bag in her teeth and shakes it at me.  Flamboyantly.  “Read the fine print!” 

     I squint through my reading glasses and I’m forced to admit that the sugar in candy corn is, ironically, made of corn.  Puppy wins again.       

     She’s right though.  It sure is dee-lish. 

     Once a year. 

     I see dental bills looming in the future.