As we were entered the drive-thru bank this morning, Wyatt exclaimed, "Hey, Mom! There's the bank!"
"Oh yeah? What do we do at the bank, Wyatt?"
"We get lollipops."
Of course. What else
we do at the bank?
This little incident brought back some fond memories of my own childhood. The bone-chilling excitement of just the possibility
of receiving a lollipop at the bank.Does the teller see that I'm in the car? Will she remember? What can I do to get her attention?
All of these thoughts ran frantically through my 6-year-old brain before finally being afforded the luxury of pursing my innocent lips against the sugary goodness of a cherry lollipop, affixed not
to just a boring stick like the ones they make today, but a lovely little loop (you remember the kind) that I'd twirl on my finger until it inevitably (and accidently) skyrocketed and landed in a place that, as evidenced by my mother's disapproving expression, would eventually land the poor sucker in the garbage can.
At some point during my adolescence (don't ask me why), banks nationwide abruptly ceased all distribution of lollipops. I thought it was a bit strange, but nevertheless, I accepted the fact that I had seen the last of my Bank Lollipop.Fast forward to the year 2006.
Wyatt was a little over a year old when we made a routine visit to the bank. You would never guess what I found accompanied with my receipt. A lollipop....a red one...shimmering in all of its glory.What the heck?!?! When did they start giving out lollipops again?!?!?
Believe it or not, it actually took a few minutes for me to start putting all of the pieces together and to realize the lollipop was actually for Wyatt! At some point during my adolescence, some bank god decided that I was too old for lollipops. Let me tell you, it was so much less hurtful when I thought they were just struggling financially and couldn't afford to give out lollipops anymore. Oh, the beauty of naivety.
When did we become too old to enjoy lollipops, and who determines such things? This sort of stuff really gets to me, especially this time of year--when the child at heart really comes out in me (and a lot of us, for that matter). I just want to shout at the top of my lungs, "Dang it! I want to sit on Santa's lap too (although instead of asking for Polly Pockets and an Easy Bake Oven, I'd be asking/pleading for debt reduction and unlimited access to Starbucks, but that's beside the point)!"
I don't know, maybe I'm just weird. But then that would make my husband weird too, and it would make my sister really, REALLY, weird because I've never known another person with such a youthful heart. It's not fair, I tell you. IT'S. NOT.FAIR! I'm not saying that I want to be a kid again because frankly, it does
stink at times. I just wish that adults were given just a little more freedom to express their inner child without it being inferred that they need to be committed. That's all.
I'm beginning to think that I don't like wine anymore, since this is the third wine in a row that I've tasted and did not really appreciate.