The Return of the Butterfinger

When I was young and in my trick-or-treating phase of life (let's face it, if it was socially acceptable I still probably would be trick or treating), the Butterfinger Bar was considered the payload of trick-or-treat candy. Not being bold enough to actually rifle through an outstretched bowl of candy for my favourite bar, I had trained my eyes to search out even the tiniest speck of characteristic orange wrapper poking up among other, lesser-quality, offerings. The night's take was pretty much valued by the pile of Butterfingers lovingly separated from the evening's regular revenue.

Since those days I have lost touch with Butterfinger. It may have had something to do with four years of braces or limited expendable income, but for some reason Butterfinger and I became estranged. I am pleased to report that his year, with the full support of Paul, Butterfinger and I have rekindled our affair. It was only last Sunday that my Grandma persuaded me to take home a handful candy bars and the spark of passion that had lain latent all these years was reignited into a candy-craving inferno. I'm not expecting this wild rendezvous to last long (most likely until Halloween is over) but I'm glad that for a few fun-sized bites every once in a while I get to relive my childhood. I encourage everyone to dig out the phone number of a favourite childhood treat from which you've grown apart and re-live a bit of the fun of the Halloween season.