When I was a kid, one of the best things that happened was when my parents would have people to our house for dinner. I loved it because not only could I stay up late listening to the grown-ups talk and not have to negotiate the normal dinner time routine of treacherous family conversation where the ground was full of wombat holes and any slip was death, but afterwards when the guests had gone home ... we kids were allowed to polish off the remaining after-dinner mints!
I used to dream of being grown-up, and being able to have after-dinner mints after every dinner. Or after every meal. Or for every meal! Why on earth did my parents, with such vast financial resources under their control that they could afford to buy vegetables for us to spit into the toilet, not spend more money on after-dinner mints?
I am grown-up now, but that dream of after-dinner mints is gone. I could easily afford to eat them every day, but I don't. It doesn't even occur to me to do it. I had forgotten all about after-dinner mints until a few days ago when we had some minty chocolate and the memories came flooding back. The crackle of the little brown envelopes. The rich smell. The anticipation. The bliss of eating one, and the sadness once finished of knowing it could be months, which felt like years, until the chance came again.
I don't know if my parents knew how much I treasured those mints. They must have seen how excited we got when we had them. I'd like to think they gave their guests one each, then snatched the box away from them to ensure that they didn't take any more, then caught each other's eye knowing that we kids would be so happy. How could they not?
I'm going to buy some tomorrow.
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