Caramel Popcorn

Caramel Popcorn is one of those creations that was and still is just absolutely brilliant.  If I could find its’ creator, I would give him or her the biggest, longest hug.  I loved it as a child and still love it many, many, many, many years later. Note to self: research inventor of caramel popcorn!

You know that question: If you could invite anyone (dead or alive) to dinner, who would it be?

My answer: the inventor of caramel popcorn! Duh!

If you saw me sitting with a bowl, bag, or box (possibly all three at the same time) of caramel popcorn and thought I was the kind of person that would be nice enough to share, think again.  If you reached over to help yourself to a tasty morsel, you’d probably draw back a bloody stump.  I’m an only child. Being selfish comes with the territory.  Helping yourself to my caramel popcorn will incite a riot.  There’s your warning.

My addiction began at an early age.  I have sought no help for the addiction since.  No need to, but I have my father to thank for getting me started.

I was born on a Naval base in the Pacific Northwest and on said Naval base existed a commissary.  Back then it was called Gemco, which stood for Government Employees somthinorother.  Inside this glorious palace was c-a-r-a-m-e-l p-o-p-c-o-r-n.  Mmmmmm.  My Dad loved it too and would use me as an excuse to buy some.

I was under 2 years old, but I had already been introduced to the wonderment of such tasty sweetness (and apparently foul language).

Dad:  You want some caramel popcorn?

Me (eye’s bugging out of my head):  Are you kiddin’ me?  How much can we fit in the car?

Okay, I didn’t really say that — I wasn’t even 2 years old yet, but, I’m quite sure my eyeballs nearly popped out of my head.

Back in the car, I was sitting in my car seat and enjoying my caramel popcorn.  You know it’s good when your fingers are sticky and little kernel parts are sticking to your face.  All of a sudden, my dad hits a bump in the road and my popcorn goes flying.

Me:  Sheeeeeeee-it!

Dad (looking at me in the rear view mirror): …

I’m sure you could hear a pin drop.

Dad:  What did you say?

Me:  Nuthin’

Dad:  What did you say?

Me:  I said I dropped my popcorn.

Dad:  That’s not what you said.

So, there it is folks.  My introduction to the word, “Sheee-it!”  And, yes, I have my Dad (and Mom) to thank for that too!

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