August 7, 2004
After lunch, in desperate need of sugar, I pounced about the lawn demanding candy from many an innocent picnicker. Try as I might, however, I could not obtain even one piece of carbo-loaded gummy sweetness to satiate my dire craving. I considered breaking into the Canteen or making a PA announcement along the lines of "If you have any candy, please come to the porch immediately and give it to Kerry."
But just when I thought I might whither away into the sunny afternoon grass, utterly depleted of that precious carbohydrate, a little angel appeared.
Madeleine stepped out from behind a boulder, a two-pound bag of Twizzlers in her delicate eight-year-old hands and a helium balloon tied to her sweater. She was oblivious to my presence, happily standing in the sun and munching away. "Hey Madeleine," I said, trying to act casual. "You think I could have a Twizzler?" She grinned at me and said nothing. "Er, Madeleine. Those, ah, those Twizzlers look pretty yummy." She just kept smiling.
I had no other choice. Really. There was nothing else I could do but start making crazy-person noises, scoop her up, spin her around, and yell "ME WANT TWIZZLER!" She squealed and giggled and hit me repeatedly with her balloon, eventually knocking me to the ground. Escaping my clutches, she dangled a Twizzler over my head and kept bopping me with the balloon, leaving me in a frantic state of utter confusion. The two of us were yelling at the top of our lungs as other people looked on in fear as a staff member assaulted an eight-year old. Or was it the other way around? Who could tell?
Rachael eventually got involved on Madeleine's behalf and threw grass at me. I managed to grab hold of the entire bag of Twizzlers and an epic game of tug-of-war ensued between the three of us. Madeleine eventually succeeded in giving me a face full of balloon and I was forced to relinquish my hold. Rachael growled at me and I growled back and then, lo and behold, thank the stars in the sky, a Twizzler flew from the open bag into the air.
Time slowed as we watched the Twizzler spin through the air, directly toward me. And then, with a great gnashing of teeth, I caught the Twizzler and tore it to pieces.
And it was good. So good.
And that was the day I attacked an eight-year-old for a piece of candy. Who have I become?