No, not me. I am the Oreo junkie, remember?
It’s mom. She’s the Kit Kat junkie.
And it’s my fault.
In the past few years, mom’s taste buds have packed their suitcase and gone on vacation. The buds return at times, long enough to savor an adult refreshment or a ham sandwich. For the most part, though, they either betray or stay away. The vacant taste buds make it especially difficult to find a snack or treat that mom can enjoy in her room, in between meals.
Mom has dabbled with gummy bears and licorice, but they both stick to her dentures. Potato chips and Cheetos are pronounced “too salty,” even though that is one thing mom can taste. Boxes of Russell Stover waxy chocolate from visitors have been pushed aside (I don’t blame her on this one). Star mints and root beer barrels have come and gone. The choices for snacks and treats have become slim to none.
Two weeks ago, as I was shopping in the local mega grocery story, I had an epihany: Hey! Mom used to love Kit Kat bars! Mom would keep a paper lunch bag up in the kitchen cupboard, filled with Kit Kats. The ex-husband used to tease her about “the stash.” That was her favorite candy bar. She made no excuses for the contents inside the paper bag.
So, guess what I bought for her at the mega grocery store? (I shouldn’t have to answer that question.)
Not even a week later, after I had left a bag of Kit Kat minis in her room, mom had one of the aides call to leave a message. Bring more Kit Kats. Mom was out of Kit Kats. Then mom proceeded to call me three times in one day to tell me she needed
a fix more Kit Kats. Mom still loves the chocolate-covered cookie. So, being a good dealer daughter that I am, I bought mom another bag of Kit Kats.
Then I proceeded to unwrap each individually wrapped Kit Kat and put them in a Ziploc bag…to make it easy for mom to
feed her addiction have a Kit Kat instead of wrestling with the wrapper.
That was Saturday. Mom inhaled four piece of this chocolate goodness during the unwrapping process. She told me several times how much she liked the Kit Kats.
I don’t know what happened after I left. Mom may have eaten half of the bag, for all I know. I have turned her into a Kit Kat-addicted junkie.
I fear the dealer may get another call or three on Tuesday.
And it’s my fault.