Not Chocolate

One day, when I looked something like this...

I was searching the kitchen for a snack. I didn't realize it at the time, but my mom was (is) a pretty health-conscious lady. We each had our own large mug with a straw, always filled with water, sitting on the counter near the stairs. Anytime we walked past our mug, we were expected to take a drink of life-sustaining water. Also, we didn't often have access to sugar cereal. (I always requested Cocoa Puffs for my birthday breakfast.) If we wanted a snack while watching TV, we could have fresh veggies like carrots and celery.

So, when I found a tupperware of crushed Butterfinger sitting on the counter, I was elated. How was this possible? I didn't recall an ice cream sundae in my recent past, and couldn't think of any other reason why crushed candy would be sitting out in my mom's kitchen. But honestly, I didn't think twice about it. I had found a treasure and I wasn't going to waste time wondering about its magical existence.

So I grabbed a spoon and dug in. I brought the heaping spoonful of sweet, crushed goodness to my mouth and chewed twice. Then my contented smile immediately replaced itself with a look of horror. I ran to the sink and gagged, moaning with shock and disgust! After making sure every speck was off my tongue and my mouth was thoroughly rinsed, I inspected the contents of the tupperware.

It was not crushed Butterfinger. The crumbly brown and orange substance was leftover taco meat that had been sitting out all night.

Excuse me while I go brush my teeth.