[a moment] for a kiss

[moment 298]

There's a candy dish that sits in a cabinet at my parents' house. It's square, made of glass, had red on it, and has a lid.

This candy dish (if that's even what it's supposed to be used for) holds great memories for me. It was the source of the relief from my suffering, usually in the form of Hershey's Kisses. You see, I was sick a lot as a child, and back in the late 1970's and early 1980's, prescription medications tasted horrible. There was none of this grape or berry or bubblegum flavored stuff. Liquid medications were thick and foul tasting and they coated your tongue. Blech.

Eventually my parents had mercy on me and purchased the kisses, which were stored in the candy dish. There was no quiet way to put the lid back on, so there was no way a kid was sneaking candy out of that dish. Not that I tried or anything...although I'm quite certain my mom totally believed that I was "just checking" to be sure there would be enough kisses to last through all my doses of medication. 

I would be allowed one kiss per dose of medication. Kisses were perfect, as you could put the entire kiss in your mouth and rub it along your tongue until the bad flavor was gone, replaced with heavenly sweet chocolate. That moment when the disgusting medicine taste was overtaken by the kiss was pure bliss.