Once upon a time I met a boy.
He was different from others I’d dated—in myriad ways—one being he frequently told me he couldn’t wait for our “honeymoon period” to be over.
I like the time when I’ve heard all the other person’s stories and start to hear them all for a second time.
To him the second time wasn’t the internal eye-roll I’ve heard this before experience, but an I love this. I know you. I know this story. comfy time.
I share that as disclaimer of sorts.
He heard this tale a trillion times and, toward the thirty-third rendition, I’m certain was rethinking his stance on the honeymoon period.
I share it a lot.
I’ve stopped strangers in drug stores and foisted the story upon them.
I’ve over-shared with disinterested people as we waited in checkout lines.
I’ve no recollection of ever telling her, yet the Tornado saw a Cadbury Creme Egg commercial, paused the ad and shouted:
Hey Mama! You brought those to this country!
And now I can’t stop myself from sharing here.
Quite frankly, because I believe it all to be true.
It’s become family lore.
Once upon *another* time I lived in Oxford, England for a year.
I was eight, many facets of the year
sucked were a challenge, but come Easter time this little Jewish misfit fell in love.
Wholly, utterly, and fake creme yolk’y center in love.
It was 1977.
Barely anyone outside of the UK was familiar with the amazingnessment which was Cadbury and my little third grade sweet tooth ravaged it all with wild abandon.
Until they released this:
I lost my mind.
I bought, I ate, I bought, I froze for later months, I ate within days anyway, I bought more, I froze…
The cycle continued until Easter season ended and, not long after, so did our year in Oxford.
After I re-found my American roots (Wendys?! What the heck was that?!) I said to my mother—in the inimitable way of eight year olds which I can completely envision the Tornado doing now— I cant wait for next Easter! I loved those eggs!
Always tasked with the hard stuff—my mom broke it to me gently:
The Cadbury products are only sold overseas. They wont be sold here next Easter.
I refused to believe her.
I was devastated.
I was angry.
I went through the 5 stages and yet still didn’t emerge ready for acceptance.
I did what we all did in that age before email: I wrote a letter to the company.
I detailed my sugar love. I blathered about my Creme Egg passions. I shared the sadness of my returning back across the pond—-I received a curt, kiss-off letter from legal detailing the fact they’d never, ever, ever take suggestions from outsiders.
Within a year my beloved Eggs of Creme were sold in the United States.
She believes the family lore!
From either point of view:
Crazy then-nine year old?
Freak flag flying forty-four year old?
You do the math—right?
I introduced the Cadbury Creme Eggs to the USA.
Please to enjoy my gift.