Dear Edna:
I’m sorry for hassling you and the rest of the old ladies working the sample stations at SuperTarget today. I just get such a kick out of seeing that look of myopic panic on your face when a customer talks to you instead of snatching a greasy treat and shoving it in her mouth while scurrying away, so as to prevent any reasonable expection of human interaction, or your offer of a coupon good for 50 cents off her purchase. I mostly just wanted to get my trick-or-treat on with the rest of the kids on the store. And I only scored four pieces of crappy candy, which I added to the stash in the big metal bowl in my trunk. Heather decided I should put it there to save her from a momentary lapse of good health; me, I have the best candy willpower in the world, simply because if I eat it, it will kill me. Or at least make me wish I was dead, which is close enough1. Perhaps just stick to, ‘Would you like a mini pizza bagel? They’re on special this week!” and everything will be fine, just fine. Love,Jenni
1Not that I want to give you any ideas, but I think in the film version of my life, my sadistic kidnapper will be slowly killing me with sugar. I’m thinking maybe it should be Reese’s Pieces, as some kind of karmic movie payback for E.T. the Extraterrestrial. That creepy little fucker.