You always ate sugar cookies.

Scrumptious to the end of the box, you'd sit there with the outer part of the circular delight hanging out of your mouth. The crescent of the evening, dangling there, waiting for it's time to be finished, to complete it's purpose. I always liked watching you eat those sugar cookies.

One half of the outer, crustier, part went first as you made your way towards the sweet sweet center of the thing. I'd be cooking brownies, or mixing them in the bowl, and even when you didn't realize it, I was watching. You thought you'd get rid of me if you kept on with the cookies, but you'll not see the last of me until you actually take the power to be near you away from me.

You loved cotton candy like no one I've ever met.

Though given the oppurtunity, I'd like to see someone actually try to eat a bag of the stuff faster than you. I mean, you'd buy the thing and devour it like a starved predatory animal. The last few times you've eaten cotton candy, you were done with the bag before we could get out of the mall. Before we'd walked fifty steps, you'd have managed to dissolve the entire pile of fluff on your tongue and have it flowing down your esophagus into your stomach.

I still wonder how you haven't ballooned into some sort of elephantine monstrosity with the way you constantly tear into bags of jellybeans, chocolate bars, and peanut butter cups. I haven't seen you in a while, and I hope you've slowed down some since last we met. It always worried me that you were constantly sucking on hard candy, or that you had that lollipop stick sticking out of your closed lips, and I'm not even going to go into that one time, when you nearly killed yourself with a box of dots and gummi worms.

You only gargled with sugar water in front of me as a joke, right?

Well, whatever the case, I wish you well and hope that things are fine in your life right now. In any case, at least you'll probably meet your maker with a stick of taffy close at hand.

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