My Candy. Let Me Show You It. (No That Is Not A Euphemism.)

It’s been a…rough few months. Very, very rough. And all this time, I’ve been thinking ‘it is high time for another candy exchange.’ Homechickens, I can’t even tell you how much I needed another candy exchange.

Luckily, so did other people.

I went to the post office yesterday to wedge out a week’s accumulation of mail:

A stack of mail with a lot of campaign fliers and a bright yellow package slip.

Those yellow slips are one of my deepest delights, and I seethe with rage at companies that use yellow envelopes that trick me into thinking they are package slips when I open my mailbox.

A large box wrapped in brown paper and addressed to me, sitting on a car seat next to the stack of mail from the previous picture.

A whole box of candy, just for me!

The box, opened, and packed to the gills with candy. A xeroxed book on top promises candy recipes.

All mine, precious.

I actually cackled with glee when I finally prised open the package and I think it alarmed the neighbor.

Candy laid out on a wooden counter.

Here it is all unpacked. I’ve been doing candy exchanges with this group long enough to more or less know who most of this stuff is from. Note the return of the Idaho Spud, smouldering ominously over there to the right.

A Whittaker's dark orange bar and a Barcelona Bar.

I am particularly looking forward to getting my stomach around both of these.

A bacon flavoured lollipop in a package reading 'man bait.'

Not so sure about this one…

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go eat so much sugar that I become physically ill.