Must be all the re-runs lately of “Who’s the Boss” (Tony Micelli? Hottie boombalottie!) and “The Wonder Years” (still my favorite show of all time) that has me waxing nostalgic. I went to B.J.’s the other evening with the express purpose of buying the bulk box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Of course, a cart full of rations later, I had justified the trip. I’ve eaten roughly six heaping bowlfuls in three days.
Is this my expression of regression? Like when older siblings are expecting a new baby sibling, they suddenly regress and crawl back into their booster seats that no longer fit and play with the toys long since forsaken in an effort to savor the last shreds of their youth before the New One arrives and they have to man up and take out the trash and do their own taxes, even though they’re still dependents. Maybe I want that last heaping bowl of sugary cereal before I have to be a role model, or, more practically, a cow. Mealtimes are going to be all about shooting out my udders for the wee one’s suckling in a short little while. A strange and terrifying thought in some ways, which is why I think I’m suddenly regressing.
A few of my other favorite bygones which conjure up my girlhood:
The Cocktail Soundtrack – Oh the hours of sleep I have lost blaring “Wild Again” and “Kokomo” on my cassette tape walkman. Pay no attention to that girl making up dance routines in her nightgown. Pay no attention to her at all.
Handi-Snaks – There’s a reason I craved them so bad during my first tri-mester. They are one part food, three parts salt. They are disgustingly, inedibly delicious.
If you ever see me rocking my Umbros (with pockets full of Now and Laters) and chillin’ with my walkman, while playing with my TMNT figurine and chomping on a Handi-Snak, please commit me. I am one jelly sandal away from a psychotic break.