Cotton candy
I was in kindergarten. Every day, around 6 pm, as I left school, my grandfather would buy me a bag of popcorn. I was allowed to eat half the popcorn then and there. The other half was left to be consumed after dinner. One day, beside the popcorn vendor there stood another one selling cotton candies. You know, the ones that look like big, fluffy, pink clouds that you eat holding from a stick. They melt on your mouth, and taste like nothing but sweetness. I had never seen that before. That day, I made my grandpa buy candy, instead of popcorn. And I was in such awe that I barely ate any at all. I left most of it for dessert. My grandpa stored the candy in the cupboard, just like he did everyday with the popcorn.
I was so excited with the new treat, that dinner seemed to last forever. Then came the time to open the cupboard, and get THE candy. At first, I didn't see anything at all. For a moment, I thought someone had eaten it. Then I noticed the stick, the pink stain on the dish, the little crystals of sugar. Someone explained that the candy had not been meant to stand in the warmth of the kitchen for long. It had melted away. Explaining it didn't make the deception more acceptable. I had no cotton candy. I had no popcorn, the well tried everyday treat. I cried. Not for the candy itself. That day, when I was four, I experienced for the first time the overwhelming feeling of frustration in face of a bad choice.
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