October has come to an end. It is time to say goodbye to Halloween, Trick-or-Treating, and bowls of bite-sized candy treats. This makes me sad, but at least there is a bright side. There will be no more candy corn in my house for another year.
I have never understood why candy corn was created or how it has continued to exist for so long. There is nothing about these tiny little nuggets of nastiness that would make me understand why anyone buys them or, God forbid, eats them. They are neither candy, nor corn, but rather tri-colored plastic chunks designed to make children cry.
Even the color of this stuff is off-putting to the heartiest of appetites. Orange, yellow, and white. There is nothing else in nature that is orange, yellow, and white and is the slightest bit edible. Actually, let me amend that statement: There is nothing in nature that is orange, yellow, and white and is the slightest bit edible.
If a bird saw a caterpillar that was the same color as candy corn, it would immediately turn and fly off in the opposite direction. Even an animal with a brain that tiny knows those colors probably mean the item is highly toxic and it’s not a good idea to try to eat it.
People should have the same good sense.
I understand that people have different tastes. I get that. My dad used to love corned beef with cabbage and liver with onions. He grew up poor, and the few times his family had meat on the table it was usually one of those two things. While I would rather go hungry for a week than eat liver and onions, my dad had very good memories of eating the stuff as a child, so I get why he likes it.
Candy corn is a different matter entirely. It is nobody’s idea of a treat. Putting candy corn in your mouth is on par with eating a scented candle. You can do it, but you won’t enjoy it and everybody who sees you do it is going to think you’re a little weird.
When I went out trick-or-treating as a kid, there were always certain houses in the neighborhood that I would avoid. I didn’t avoid the houses because of the people that lived there, I didn’t care too much who was handing out candy if it was the good stuff. I avoided the houses that handed out the items that a kid my age considered to be “crap.” You know what I’m referring to: apples, toothbrushes, pennies, and other items adults would call “healthy alternatives.”
But I would happily take a bruised and rotting apple over one of those small cellophane bags full of candy corn.
Conversations with my friends on Halloween night often sounded like this:
Friend: “Are you going to Mr. Smith’s house?”
Me: “Yup!”
Friend: “You know he murdered four kids on Halloween last year, right?”
Me: “I know, but he’s handing out full-sized candy bars.”
Friend: “What about the Johnson’s house. They have candy corn.”
Me: “I’ll go over to their house later. I have to get some eggs and toilet paper first.”
Candy corn is a scourge on our world. They are triangular shards of misery that I am convinced were invented only to suck the joy out of the word “candy.”
And the worst part of all is … my wife likes them.
I don’t know why. Perhaps there is some deep-seeded childhood trauma that makes her think she likes eating candy corn. Her taste buds may be damaged. Or she may simply have horrible decision-making skills.
She did agree to marry me after all, so her mental capacity has always been suspect.
But whatever the reason, she does like them, and that means that every October, the little nausea bombs turn up in my house. They are like vermin that only move in for one month out of the year. It could be worse, but it could certainly be better.
As we move into November, I can rest easier knowing that my house will be candy corn free for the next eleven months. But I can never completely relax. I know that it is only a matter of time before they show up once more.
There must be people other than my wife that buy candy corn. They wouldn’t keep making the stuff if someone wasn’t buying it.
Would they?
Or maybe, no one is buying it, but there is some massive, Illuminati-level conspiracy to keep candy corn around. Is it possible that candy corn is part of some kind of macabre, government experiment? Are scientists trying to discover how long it will take before children are brought to the point of outright rebellion and rioting over the presence of candy corn in their trick-or-treat bags?
I suppose it’s possible. Even probable.
In fact, now that I think about it, I see no other plausible explanation.
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