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Let me paint you a little picture: You’re eight years old, it’s Halloween, and your legs ache from doing three laps around your neighborhood. You may have even had to walk a little bit funny because your homemade washing machine costume prevented you from typical walking movement. You collapse onto the floor and dump out your pillow case only to find that your living room carpet has turned into a sea of orange, yellow, and white. Brach’s Candy Corn had done it again. I know what you’re thinking––candy corn is harmless, it hurts no one. 

Imagine the pain that the one night of the year your parents let you eat as much candy as you like has suddenly been haunted by a flavorless, sugar-filled candy. You may have even tried to ignore that candy corn is the worst of the candies… maybe you’ve even tasted one. You already regret the decision and it hasn’t even reached your mouth. The tiny corn shaped morsel had gotten itself stuck in places only your dentist goes. Maybe, you had anticipated that the corn would have a little neapolitan ice cream effect––that with each color there is a different flavor. But, no, of course not, because after all it’s merely candy corn. 

After an hour of wallowing on the floor, your older sibling walks through the door. You know what you have to do. It’s time to bargain. This may be their last year trick or treating so you know they got the good stuff. You casually meander to them, and you take a sneak peek into their bag. You catch a glimpse of their king size Hershey’s Bar. You want the king size Hershey’s Bar. “Oh my gosh,” you say. “The candy corn this year is so good.” Your lying skills have already improved since last year’s Easter egg hunt. Your sibling scoffs. They know all too well that candy corn truly does suck. 

You head off to bed feeling defeated, leaving your bag of candy on the kitchen counter. You hope some miracle happens over night and that your candy corn miraculously turns into chocolate and sour gummies. You walk downstairs to your dad with a mouthful of your candy corn, “didyouwantthis?” he muffles out. “I typically prefer the little pumpkins,” he adds once swallowed. You chuckle at the sight, thinking it can’t be that awful if your dad enjoys it. As you laugh a tiny piece of candy corn (of the one morsel you tried last night) unsticks itself from your teeth, and you are once again reminded of how much you dislike it. 

Hannah Zevon

Conn Coll '24

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