Sometimes it's nice to sit back and let someone else be the crazy one in the relationship. It's not that I don't take my responsibilities seriously, but all this neuroticism doesn't just happen; it's hard work. And I've been a little tired lately. So you can imagine how pleased I was when I made some applesauce last weekend and Mr. Bear's response was to worry that I was going to eat his brains. You know. Because, Obviously.
It started out with my Fall cravings for apples, nutmeg and cinnamon reaching epic proportions. So I pulled out my favorite applesauce recipe, which roasts the fruit whole, which made the whole house smell like a Dickens novel (Obviously, not the the one with orphans and poorhouses. No, not the one with child endangerment and recluses. The nice one. The one with a mahogany-roasted goose the size of a cripped child. Geez, Dickens. Even your pleasant similes are spiked with pneumonia and grime. What a downer.).
Earlier this week, I announced the Bearfrau's foolproof plan for reclaiming your lost youth. I don't want to bore you with the high-tech details, but mostly it involves eating the Halloween candy you bought for the neighborhood kids. Of course I'm not actually advocating taking candy from babies. What am I, a monster? I'm advocating taking it from grown children. And not even really taking it - just creating a series of obstacles to it. If the child decides the challenge isn't worth the reward, well, that's just a commentary on the decline of tenacity and drive in the youth of America today. It's no fault of yours.
Imagine it's 1987. An elementary-school cafeteria, the day after Halloween. A swarming madhouse of glucose-addled children, gearing up for recess after a healthy meal of half a bologna sandwich and as many fun-sized Butterfingers as it takes to fill a Thundercats lunch box. Gods and heroes are being made today. Ryan Finnegan is telling the Homeric epic of how he grabbed an entire bowl of Sweet-Tarts off an unattended porch and ran. Vanessa Simmons brought so many Chuckles that she can't finish them all - the entire 3rd-grade class is singing Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" to compete for her leftovers. Are you enjoying the nostalgia? Good. One of us should.
I myself have trouble enjoying Halloween because it always reminds me of the bleak hellscape of misery and despair that was my low-sugar childhood. No Pop Rocks. No Pop-Tarts. No Ring Pops. And definitely no pop. It was a dark time, filled with lies and misdirection. For years, my brother and I labored under the false impression that sliced dried pineapple was a "treat." I didn't have my first Dorito until the age of 16. And I still wake up sweating in the night with the taste of carob in my mouth.
