Crème de la

When I was nineteen, drifting along with a sugar house brain, my friend Summer taught me how to steal Cadbury Crème Eggs. Slinking through the grocery store aisles, we’d unwrap them with deft sleight of hand then shove them into our mouths, whole. We were defiant, rebellious visions of counterculture floating on miniature highs. Ten years later, I buy a 4-pack. Wait until I’m home to unsheathe one. Take a rabbit-like nibble. Then shove the rest into my mouth. Hoping, wishing, but only ending up with aching molars.