Candy Massacre

A lot of people gripe about Halloween and all the candy that follows. I must confess that I rather like it. A Snickers here, a Milky Way there... what's not to love?

This year though we had a problem. A thirty-five inch tall problem named Elisabeth. You see, Elisabeth wasn't content with a Snickers here or a Milky Way there. No, Elisabeth spent all her free time moving stools and chairs, building towers, scaling furniture and devising new ways to reach the candy supply to keep a running flow of lolly pops, Smarties and Nerds rushing into her red little head.

I had to put a stop to it. But where could I put the candy where she couldn't go or configure a way to get to it?

The oven!

Yes. The oven. That was my brainstorm. It locks, you see, and Elisabeth hasn't yet figured out how to unlock it.

Aren't you afraid you're going to burn all your candy? Diana asked me just last week.

I assured her, quite confidently, that I wasn't worried. I always, always, check my oven before turning it on, I boasted.

Diana nodded dubiously.

A mere two days later it happened. I was merrily whipping up a batch of chocolate brownies Saturday morning, humming along with my favorite Clementi sonatinas when I smelled something funny. Like burning plastic. Hmmmm. I wonder what that could be?

And then it hit me. All the kids' Halloween candy. Burned. And the basket it was stored in? Ruined. All those luscious Kit Kats and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and 3 Musketeers. Gone. Forever.

I think most parents would consider it a blessing. Think of all the saved money on dentists visits and non-expanding waistlines. But my sweet tooth and I miss the candy.