A Return to . . . Milk Duds

My son took me on a date a couple months ago.  To a movie.  And he paid . . . with the free tickets he earned in a contest at his orthodontist's office.  He also treated to the concessions.  (Well, his father had given him money and told him that a gentleman always asks his "date" if she wants anything and pays if she does.  (Good job, Hon!))  I chose a reasonable package of Twizzlers.  My son, taking advantage of his imaginary manhood status for this evening, overrode the usual rules and chose Milk Duds.  Milk Duds?  Milk Duds are a well-known no-no with his braces, specifically forbidden by his orthodontist, Dr. Fritz.  He noticed my quizzical look, gritted his teeth, and joked, "Dr. Fritz is going down!"   

Later, during the movie, I looked over at my son.  He was expressionless.  Not smiling, not laughing, nothing.  And not meeting my gaze.  No eye contact.  (Mother instincts alerted!)  What's wrong?  He points to his mouth and then the half-empty Milk Dud box.  He was stuck.  All gummed up.  Slightly frantic, but trying his best to hide it.  Dr. Fritz is going down, huh? 

Well, he survived, but had to admit, maybe Milk Duds really were not a good idea with braces.  It's been a long year.  Trick-or-treat was the low point -- no Milk Duds?  In my son's mind, Milk Duds go with Halloween the way candy canes go with Christmas.  And despite his sister kindly accepting his Milk Duds in trade for anything else, it still wasn't the same.  No Milk Duds on Halloween.  I guess when you're eight, that's kind of a big deal.         

Well, now his bite is right and his teeth are straight.  Today he finally gets his braces off. 

Guess what we'll surprise him with afterward.