Every chocolate shop I visit - Candy Cow, Taffy's, Margaret River - showcases palm-size rounds with coloured dots all over, advertised as "giant freckles."
They're cute, but I keep feeling as though I've seen "freckles" before. Surely I'd remember if I ever ate one? It seems wrong to pay nearly ten dollars for something that was possibly forgettable.
The giant freckles have been preying on my mind, especially in our largely treat-free household lately. Last night, after a walk on the beach at sunset ("We're living the greeting card!"), I told Mike that the next time I saw a giant freckle, I was getting it.
After a short fantasy sequence where we wished that Margaret River Chocolate Factory had midnight madness events and that one just happened to be tonight (or that any of the local places selling nice chocolate were open at 8 p.m.), Mike said, "We can just get freckles at the petrol station."
"What? No! I'm not having my possible first time with freckles be with ones from the petrol station! Then what, we go eat them behind a Dumpster?".
"They're fine! The gas station is owned by Coles. They're actual name-brand Freckles just like the ones sold in the supermarket."
"No. I will wait for something nice."
"These are nice."
"Well, I want a giant one, so no."
We stopped to gas up in an effort to stay ready for summer break meandering at a moment's notice. (Not even a Tylenol for my back yesterday!) While Mike fed the tank, I squeegee'd the windshields. No pay at the pump in (Western?) Australia - a horrifying rollback to my early driving days that hasn't really hit me yet since I'm always the passenger - so Mike went into the quickie mart to settle up.
And came back with one of those damned grey sacks.
(I expect the ubiquitous grey colour of plastic bags here is an environmental move, so I can't really complain. But for some reason I find them so industrial and ugly. I won't even let our bread stay inside of them for extra freshness because I find it so depressing. Maybe the bags are deliberately off-putting in order to get people to use their cloth totes? Or maybe I was abducted as a child by extra-terrestrials who used to pop grey balloons in my face, because I really can't fathom why I have such a deep and prissy aversion to these sacks. Why do I rate them in my top five difficult aspects of culture shock? Damn aliens.)
I knew what was in the grey bag that Mike was innocently swinging. Damn men.
Of course I ate the freckles. They were chocolate. There are laws.
And as I popped one (after another) into my mouth, tongue feeling for the tiny bumps, I visited Wikipedia.
Ohhhh, chocolate nonpareils. Of course. One of those words I've never known how to say (non-puh-ray?). I dimly remember having had Nestle Sno-Caps (and not liking them enough to seek them out again).
But these freckles were good, as far as supermarket candy goes, even though "freckle" is a generic term for a type of confectionery, not something made definitively by Allen's, thus giving me righteous ammo for some future, probably unrelated, spousal bicker.
Language Sidebar: In the United States, we have sprinkles (long rectangles) and nonpareils (dots) to toss on top of our baked goods. Aussies only have "100s and 1000s." Maybe. Mike was recently reading about the controversy over whether "100s and 1000s" refers strictly to nonpareils or to nonpareils and sprinkles both. Some people claim that "sprinkles" in a known word in Australia. "I never heard it when I was growing up!" said Mike (along with a few choice words of incredulity). Evolution of language or newly discovered regionalism? I do wonder at Aussies not having two separate words for what, to me, are two different objects, but it also seems a bit of a shame to see the definition of "100s and 1000s" diminish. ("Maybe nonpareils can be 100s and sprinkles can be 1000s!" Yeah, I'm not helping.)
The photo challenge topic for yesterday was "Colourful." (With that spelling. FatMumSlim - the photo challenge guru - has turned out to be Australian. They're everywhere!) The beach at sunset didn't quite cut it, so I decided to take a photo of the striped blanket that was my dog's favourite in her old age. (And since she was a dainty girl, is in perfect condition.) The blanket is currently folded under my pillow, giving just a little extra support to my head as I work out the perfect formula for sleeping with a recovering (fingers crossed) back.
But as midnight neared, I couldn't resist the freckle in front of me... or the lure of iPad's goofy Photo Booth app.
