I have a propensity to desire sweets. It has been a problem since I was a child and I never outgrew those cravings. When I was in elementary school, the little town we lived nearby had a family owned store. This store, called Fox’s Market, had fresh meats from the town’s slaughterhouse, all sorts of dry goods and canned goods, and, best of all, a 3 foot by 5 foot rack filled with shelves of candy. My mother would give us each a dime to spend on the penny candies. I could get a small paper bag full of candy and gum with that dime, and I agonized over my choices. The woman that ran the store would always grow impatient with me and her granddaughters, two teen-aged girls that worked there, would roll their eyes and snicker together at me. I didn’t care. I was just grateful to have my bag of candy. My mother was just grateful that the act of choosing sweets kept us busy so she could shop. So we all went home happy.

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