But it’s My Reeses Cup

It cannot be possible that my father was the only one to have done this. It just can’t. I refuse to believe that his evil genious was such that he invented a whole new physically painless torture device for young children with uncoordinated fingers.Growing up I was plagued with the inability to open things. This lack of skill ranged from coke cans to candy wrappers and sometimes even chip bags. Though I had two parents in my household, both with funtioning fingers mind you, for some reason I always went to my father to quell the situation that is unopened candy. Perhaps it was some leftover, genetically embedded vestige of olden days where men always opened pickle jars for their fair handed ladies. Maybe I was just stupid.

Tell me I am not alone.

Reeses cups, fruit roll-ups, kit-kats, pretty much anything my stubby child fingers had trouble grasping was fair game. Now, why I never learned to stop asking him to “please, open this for me” I cannot explain. Perhaps my child-like brain had not matured enough to understand cause and affect. Or perhaps it was my blind trust that surely, he would not torment me once again. After all, there are only two cups to a reeses cup and eating one whole one would be too cruel.

Oh the mental anguish. of losing that reeses cup.

You know where I’m headed here, right? He ate it. Every. Single. Time.
I like to think that he was trying to teach me “the hard way” by eating part of my precious snack, sometimes the whole snack in the case of fruit roll-ups where he could wad them up and stuff them in his mouth, but I am unconvinced.

For my father has a sweet tooth that I dare-say works as a gravitational pull, much like for a planet. Except instead of attracting moons and asteroids his attracted donuts and oreos to his specified couch location. His seat was always clearly marked by the Great Wall of Junk Food. Periodically Mother would walk by and basically swipe everything off the couch into a bag and you could see the cushion again, but this only lasted for mere minutes. Before you could blink a new bag of chips would have settled back into their rightful spot.

Now I’m married and squid does the same damn thing. I can accept this. I love him, and he is not without fualts. The ability to finish an entire cup of something and refil it instead of simply getting a new cups until theres five half-filled cups all over the livingroom-being one of them.

But I will stab him if he eats our furture children’s reeses cup.

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