CAAAANNNNDDDDYYYYYYYYYYYY

It is time for my pinata's big test. I am really unsure whether it will hold candy without breaking. Especially the quantity of candy I would prefer it hold. I decided to test it early, so that I would have time to make repairs in the event of a candy-induced pinata hernia. 

My pinata experiences were limited as a small child. But one day around my 8th year on the planet my family visited the downtown Seattle waterfront. At the trident trading company there, I saw pinatas galore. I knew what that meant. 

You see, I had done my research. I read a ton of what Jeopardy refers to as Kids Lit (I can still run that category.) I KNEW that the lifeblood of any pinata was sweet, delicious candy. There was nothing I wouldn't do to know the joys of processed white sugar, which my mother had all but outlawed from our house. (Like video games, technology, and television, my mother's opinion on sugar can be summed up in one statement: "It rots your brain.")

I begged and begged my mother to get me one, and she finally relented. The deal: I could have one, but I wouldn't get to use it until my birthday party, which was approximately 9000000 years away. I had one all picked out. It was a pony. Well... my experience as an adult has led me to believe it might have been a donkey or an alpaca. But it was a pony to me. It was red, white, and blue, and a glorious candy receptacle.

I waited and waited for my birthday. I dreamed about the candy that would rain down on me and my friends as we viciously beat the pony into a pulp, in a sadistic frenzy driven by a need for sweets. It would be delicious. There would be lollipops for everyone. It would be my day of treat-y triumph. The resulting sugar high would never end.

The birthday finally rolled around. It was a big party, many children, much pudding. I got Michael Jackson's Thriller as a gift. The pinata was to be the centerpiece of the party. The time finally came. Blindfolds were procured, sticks were brought. The pony was hit. Over and over. 

But wait. Where were my treats? My delicious sugary pinata organs? 

Well, there weren't any. My mother had the last laugh. She thought pinatas came filled, she said. All that candy would rot our brains anyway. 

At the end of the day, I was consoled with the promise of another FILLED pinata for my next birthday. I never got that pinata, and still consider the IOU outstanding. 

It is for this reason that I intend to fill the crap out of my pinata. There will be no disappointed children or cancer patients this time. Sugar will have its revenge! 

I want the candy all to be white and red, to represent the fact that my friend's leukemia is under control. Cause white and red blood cells. See? Yeah, whatever, its a theme. I wanted the candy to be mixed together, so I dumped it all into my laundry bucket to mix up. I threw in some orange Mardi Gras beads too. Hopefully no kid eats them.

It turns out I bought almost precisely the right amount of candy. It came up as high as the candy door, without spilling out. 

None fell out the bottom, and her structural integrity seems to be intact. It looks like she is good to go. Now I will let her rest in the clown room, to commune with the universe, and prepare her final wishes for the next ten days. I hope she does not know what is coming. 

I hope candy is her last meal.