Only items missing are a few Hershey kisses

All minds, consciously or subconsciously are, at times, focused on chocolate. As such, I share with you my stealth trip for Hershey kisses during a Thanksgiving visit in Athens, Georgia. Before you jump to the conclusion this was a collegiate prank, let me enlighten you. This happened six years ago, during a Thanksgiving visit to my little sister’s home. I was a babe: a young gal in her 40′s.

My little sister lives in a gorgeous home just outside Athens. ‘Just outside’ is a term I do not use. When I drive to her house, I prepare for a possible 24 hour trip with the last 18 hours spent driving around and around and around Hwy 10.

Hwy 10 is casually referred to as ‘The Loop’ by local folks. I call it a NASCAR road strip without pit stops. If I am brave and smart enough to exit at the correct exit, the second half of my journey takes me through a maze of Georgia country. I face an endless litany of left or right turn decisions. Why don’t I use Molly (my GPS)? During a trip to S when Molly came along, she announced “you have reached your destination,” at the entrance of a Christmas tree farm. This area has fooled the best GPS’: from the Tom Toms to the Magellan and the Garmins.

On aside, S has a big family: four grown children and two grandbabies. To give her a little elbow room, Mommy, Aunt S and I insisted on staying at a hotel . With this simple decision, we minimized the aforementioned nervous breakdowns associated with a romp around the “The Loop.” We drove directly to the hotel: a clearly marked exit, no muss, no fuss. I shared a room with Aunt S, allowing Mommy a room of her own.  For sojourns during our stay, we would have a pace car to follow pre-empting any corn field layovers.

The collected family “tried” to stick with the original plan of a light dinner on Wednesday night. We gave in to cilantro and jalapenos. S and hubby led the entourage to a local authentic Mexican restaurant. Two fajitas platters, three burritos platters and four chimichangas later, we waddled to our vehicles. Our pace car waited patiently.

S and Mommy reviewed Thanksgiving turkey tips:the cooking start time, the seasoning plan and other turkey plans. I offered my I Phone for a quick call to 1-800-Butterball. The looks said it all: no Butterball calls were needed, thank you very much. All I had on my mind was putting on my very loose jammies.

At the hotel we thanked our pace car driver profusely in words and tips. Finally, we arrived at the room. I immediately pulled down the bed spread. I was taught at an early age to never, absolutely never sit on the bedspread at a hotel. With the Haz Mat material removed, I leisurely changed into my jammies, snuck over and turned the heat off. The thermostat had been set at 80 degrees; before dinner Aunt S had turned the heat up, to get the chill off. After a quick trip to the balcony to bring my body temperature down after my dry sauna, I settled in with my book (pre-Kindle).

As minutes ticked by, my evening chocolate craving increased. Like a trained lab animal, I waited for my Hershey kisses to drop down the chute. It never happened. Minutes ticked by as water dripped from the leaky spigot in the bathroom. I found myself reading a sentence five times. After an interminable length of time, I surrendered. I had to get my hands on some Hershey’s kisses.

I scanned my subconscious for a solution. Ahh. I remember seeing a convenience store across the street. I bet they are open with kisses on the shelf. As I have seen much worse, I never considered changing into street clothes. I grabbed my red L.L.Bean Adirondack Barn Coat, some cash, the room card and slithered out the room. The trip was uneventful: within minutes I was riding up the elevator clinching my bag of Hershey’s kisses.

Smugly, I walked down the quiet hall to the room I shared with Aunt S. I slipped the card into the slot instantly seeing the green light. I couldn’t help but smile; I made it home with my Hershey’s kisses.

I walked into the room. Instead of the darkened room I left, I faced a room blazed with light. Aunt S. stood in the middle of the room with an incredulous look on her face. OMG. I may have been 47 years old, but at that moment I was seven years old. How could I tell her I scampered across the street at one o’clock in the morning in my pajamas to get Hershey’s kisses? As I’m sure it would have done if I were seven, my mind went blank. I stood there, speechless.

After an eternity, the truth spilled out of my mouth. Verbalizing my escapade added more than a touch of insanity.

Just as I had promised years ago not to put anything in the oven without setting the timer, I promised I would never go out in the middle of the night again. (We didn’t address my attire.) She forgave me. She knew I would not do anything knowingly to cause her to worry. We still laugh about the look on her face when I walked in.

Yes.

I ate my Hershey’s kisses:

My daily allotment of ten.