Grandmother swoops down and grabs all Rice Krispie Treats, apples, and anything that might contain "Razor blades and that awful drug that made the girl jump off the building." Put on giant show of sorrow, but if she steers clear of the chocolate it's no biggie. Apples? Feh. Homemade treats--nice, but they'll only slow down The Sort.
Get to work. Look for mini Mr. Goodbars, mini Krackel bars, Snickers bars, Almond Joys, Mounds, Hershey kisses, Pixie-Stix, Tootsie Rolls, Tootsie Pops, M&Ms, butterscotch hard candies, tropical lifesavers, butter rum lifesavers, Goobers, and Chunky bars. All go in the "Best Candy" Heap.
Take a breath. Survey Majestic "Best Candy" Heap. Survey sister's candy mountain. Note, with quiet satisfaction, that you got more candy this year.
Grandmother swoops down and says, "Share a little bit of that with your sister." This is grim. She better not be looking at the Majestic "Best Candy" Heap, and she's watching to see if you only share the kind of candy she knows that you and your sister don't like. Grudgingly, push over a small pile of refugee items you have already classified--by your own personal taste standards--as "Okay Candy." This includes Reese's peanut butter cups, Kit-Kat bars, Raisinets, Whoppers, Junior Mints, York Peppermint Patties, some salt water taffy, and Hershey's mini milk chocolate bars and special dark chocolate bars. Sister pushes special dark chocolate bars back over with a look of disgust.
Grandmother takes ALL special dark chocolate bars and disappears, claiming that she is going "to make dinner." The sound of rustling candy wrappers accompanied by the beginning music of "The Edge of Night" makes you doubt this.
Continue to form the final two piles, the "Okay Candy" pile--which now also includes Good 'n Fruity, red licorice whips, Smarties, SweeTarts, Sugar Daddys, non-pareils, stunt candy (candy cigarettes, wax lips), root beer barrels, wint-o-green lifesavers, and regular-flavor lifesavors--and the "Who Cares" candy pile.
Go into bathroom with sister and turn light out to see if sparks appear when you bite down on a wint-o-green lifesaver.
Return to find that one Chunky candy bar is missing from your "Best Candy" pile. Go and look mournfully at Grandmother.
The "Who Cares" candy pile is a hell of a bad scene. Raisins. Tiny toothbrushes packaged with toothpaste (yeah, yeah Mr. Larsen--we know you're a dentist, give it a rest). Some kind of stale chocolate chewing gum. Yards of dull lollipops. Black licorice. Necco wafers. Horehound drops from the elderly lady next door. Shudder. The devil's candy.
Trade "Okay" candy with sister to get more "Best Candy." Stuff mouth with mini Mr. Goodbars.
Grandmother swoops down and grabs 3/4 of Majestic "Best Candy" Heap to dole out in school lunches.
For next month, every member of household's breath smells like chocolate--including the cats, strangely.
