If life is a box of chocolates, maybe it follows that the rest of our existence also corresponds to food. Work as a broccoli salad. the loud housecat experience as one of those irritating whistlepops. weekend getaway with the tribe is a nine and a half sushi roll...
...and the box of old correspondence i'm collecting from every corner of the house to one central location (seriously though? what is that about? it's like i've been channeling the spirit of some pack ratty squirrel who didn't want to put all of his nut supply in one location for fear it would be poached by the lazy next tree neighbor squirrel) is a bag of bertie bott's every flavor beans. they all look tasty and sweet on the outside. And after eating a handful (cherry flavored notes describing a dear friend's first 1980s visit to my favorite outdoor sculpture garden, garbanzo bean flavored holiday greeting, a pecan pie one from a southern boy we'd long forgotten, dozens of minty fresh missives from the era's best gal-pal, and tangy citrus ones from the sweet boy with the heart of a poet), it's tempting to forget they're "every flavor" beans. earwax is lurking in there somewhere.
And then there it is, that one with a foreign postmark you don't even remember getting. You have a nagging thought you should just file it into the summercamp folder and move on. but oh no, that would be too easy. If you did that, you'd miss out on being transported back to a cringe-worthy time when the object of your first summer puppy love broke up with you in the space of two paragraphs. While the icing on the cake may have been that he actually threw in the trite "let's just leave it at friends, ok?" line, that cake is decorated with candied irony flowers: when we reconnected 20 years later, we managed exactly that.
Comments