Shortly after writing this post, I languidly Googled green and black butterscotch. I was avoiding dirty dishes; I barely noticed what I was doing. Of course, any reader of teen fiction knows that magic doesn’t happen until we’ve given up hope.
A new listing popped up, from a British shop called Ethical Superstore. SK was all- “Yeah just try it Hirsch. As soon as you ask them to ship to the U.S., the website will shut down and you’ll be arrested.” I knew she was right, but I still went through the exercise of typing in my credit card, address, etc. No bumps in the road. I got a confirmation e-mail, but I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop- “Ethical Superstore is Nigerian lottery outlet. Just wire us PayPal info and you have 100 Butterscotch bar…”
Even when I came home and saw the little box with British customs stickers all over it, I thought there might be a Hershey bar or a kielbasa inside. It wasn’t until I unwrapped the Holy Grail and placed it on my cat (see below) that it began to sink in. I had gotten exactly what I wanted. Time for a full-on existential crisis!
The bar is effing delicious, creamy and rich, peppered with little buttercrunch flecks, but that’s beyond the point. There is an ineffably tragic feeling when I get what I long for. I think I’m meant to keep a few things out of grasp. Otherwise I start to feel like an idle trust fund playboy, spoiled and oversatiated. “Another lobster? How trite.”