Once upon a time I met a boy.
He was different from others I’d dated (in myriad ways) with one being the fact 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 begin to hear them for a second time.
For him the second telling-time wasn’t an 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 this tidbit as disclaimer of sorts.
He heard this story a hundreds of times and, toward the near-1000th rendition, I have to believe he was rethinking his stance on that honeymoon period.
I share this story a lot.
I’ve stopped strangers in drug stores and foisted the story upon them.
I’ve over-shared with disinterested shoppers as we waited in grocery checkout lines.
I’ve absolutely no recollection of telling the Child my tale, yet she saw a Cadbury Creme Egg commercial, paused the TV and shouted:
Hey Mama! Come quick! 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 entirely true.
It’s become our 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-yolk’y center in love.
It was 1977.
Barely anyone outside of the UK was familiar with Cadbury and, upon discovery, my third grade sweet tooth ravaged all they offered with wild abandon.
Until they released this:
I lost my mind.
I bought, I ate, I bought, I froze for later months, I ate the frozen within days, I bought more, I froze…it was a never-ending cycle.
Until the Easter season ended and, not long after, so did our year in Oxford.
After I re-acquainted myself with American culture (Wendys?! What was that?!) I told my mother—in the inimitable way of eight year olds then and now— I’m ready for next Easter now! I’m buying all the eggs!
Ever tasked with the hard stuff conversations—my mom sat me down and broke it to me gently:
The Cadbury products are only sold overseas. They wont be here next Easter.
I refused to believe her.
I was devastated.
I was angry.
I attempted the 5 stages and yet couldn’t find my way to emerge ready for acceptance.
So I did what we all did in the age before email: I hand-wrote a letter to the company.
I detailed my sugar love, I pontificated about my Creme Egg passion—-I received a curt, kiss-off letter from legal detailing the fact they’d never, ever, ever take suggestions about product from outsiders.
Within a year my beloved Eggs of Creme were sold in the United States.
She’s bought into the family lore!
From either perspective:
Crazy then-nine year old?
It all adds up–right?
It all makes sense.
I introduced Cadbury Creme Eggs to the USA.
Please to enjoy my gift.