By Jim Hagarty
1987
“Well, would you look at that!” I said in surprise to the woman behind the candy counter. “I didn’t know they still made creamy toffee bars.”
“Yes,” she said. “We sell quite a few of them.”
“Well, isn’t that something? You know, I haven’t had one of those in years,” I continued, reminiscently. “I was hooked on them in high school. Used to spend most of my lunch money on them.”
But, that was a long time ago and the taste of creamy toffee was only a pleasant memory now. I don’t know why I ever quit eating the smooth, sweet, caramel candy but I guess I just outgrew it. Kids will eat sweets morning, noon and night if they get the chance. But the bad habits of childhood fall away from the adult like leaves from a tree in autumn. Maturity brings balance, moderation and wisdom. Aging dogs walk around big puddles instead of splashing right through them and then shivering wet in the cold till they dry.
As fall approaches, however, it’s sometimes nice to go for one last swim at the lake so I put down 64 cents on the counter top and bought a creamy toffee bar. For old time’s sake.
It tasted as good as the first one I ever ate. I would be willing to argue with anyone on any day that creamy toffee contains the finest flavour of any food produced by any method from any substance.
Anywhere.
The next day, I was back at the store, laying another 64 cents on the counter. What the heck. Two last visits to the lake wouldn’t hurt. Might be a long, cold winter.
Little did I know I’d spend so much of my time from then on at the lake. Before long, I was up to two toffee bars a day. Every day.
Store clerks started commenting on the regularity of my toffee-bar purchases. I shrugged them off with a little joke or two. “Doctor says I’m suffering from a severe caramel deficiency,” I’d quip, with a weak laugh.
“Just buying this for a friend who’s hooked,” I’d say another time with a slight, oddly pathetic chuckle.
Twice a day, I was back at the store – once around noon and once after supper. For a while, I tried buying two at a time so I wouldn’t have to go to the store so often but I had to give that up when I started eating them two at a time.
One day, my store ran of toffee. I raced outside, jumped in my car and headed for another store. They don’t sell them. Back in the car, I speeded off to a third store. They sell them but they cost 70 cents. Lucky for me they don’t cost $70. I’d be a very poor man today.
Vowing I’d never suffer through a letdown like that again, I found suppliers in every part of the city – two in the east end, two in the west, and three downtown.
My main source downtown has been out of toffee for two weeks now. And my patience is wearing thin.
“They’ll be in next Thursday,” the woman behind the counter said. That was two Thursdays ago. The first week, I offered to drive down to the factory and pick them up. No need for that, I was told. Last Thursday, she and I went through the order sheet together just to make sure they were actually on their way.
Yesterday, the shelf still had a bare spot where the toffee used to be.
“Should have been here this morning,” she said. “I don’t know where the driver is.”
“Well shouldn’t you call the police, or something?” I asked. “Maybe his truck ran off the road.”
As with most addictions, the night becomes darkest before dawn. One night I skipped supper entirely and ate a toffee bar instead. Another night, I took one to bed with me and ate it there. I’ve also eaten them while taking a bath. Sometimes I eat them while I’m driving and I’m getting more and more sensitive when any one suggests I’m eating too many.
But I knew things were getting out of hand the day a fellow worker asked for some of my toffee.
“Get your own!” I told him, remorselessly. But then I relented, cut off half an atom and gave it to him.
Someday, I know, I’m going to have to quit. Meanwhile, I keep scanning the headlines, hoping some researcher doesn’t discover that too much toffee causes lapses of memory or dehydration, or something.
Which reminds me. I could use a drink awfully bad and I’d get one too if I could remember where I put that bottle of pop I bought.
(Update: Somehow, the toffee passion just ended one day. I don’t remember the circumstances now. But almost 20 years passed with no toffee bars. I moved on. Last summer, my daughter got a job at a local candy store. They make the best toffee bars ever. She started bringing them home to me. As I write, I am in need of an intervention. A good stern toffee talk with my loved ones.)
