PEZ

For Easter I thought it would be cute to get the husband a PEZ Dispenser with a cute green racing helmet. I was lured by all those happy childhood memories of PEZ Dispensers in my stockings and baskets. Promising long happy hours (okay minutes) pulling pressed sugar goodness from out of Snoopy's mangled neck.

I love PEZ.

Or I thought I did. Perhaps my parents filled them all up before doling them out. Or perhaps my child-sized fingers simply had an easier time holding onto those tiny nuggets. Whatever it is, I find that now, when I have come to trust and rely on my excellent hand-eye coordination and digital motor skills, I cannot - for the life of me - fill the damn PEZ head.

Surely this was not some simple oversight of my memory. Surely my young mind was not so easily swayed by that delicious sugar powder to so quickly forget the fight involved in getting the candy into that little stapler-esque toy. I hate to admit that I may have simply forgotten all this pain just for that simple reward of a little piece of stale, substandard confection.

Because now, oh now, now the candy doesn't even make it in. I need to finish off at least a sleeve before I can find the patience to make those little purple dominoes sit right.

Oh PEZ, you've done me wrong.