PezFest 2012

This morning, we observed the Annual Post-Christmas Pez Banquet. The essential components of this mid-to-late-January feast are the general yield of Pez candies from Christmas, and the precondition of Mommy sleeping upstairs. Part of the protocol is to load tiny Pez candies, one by one, into slingy, colorful plastic Pez dispensers - ideally bearing the head of Santa himself.

Ian pointed out to me his understanding of Pez dispenser technology, stretching the moveable parts of the sophisticated contraption to expose their inner-workings: "Daddy, I pretty-much understand how it all works." I'm hoping that we can reverse-engineer this enigmatic powerhouse of engineering and market it to the throngs of tin-pot Pez competitors in the world, from our new workshop on the far side of the Iron Curtain.

In any case, our accountant, Ian, took charge of the even distribution of assets. Everybody got two packages, and they were grouped in colored pairs - red and orange, red and purple, etc. - and each participant was given the chance to select their ideal color-combination.

Madeleine, Ian, Daniel and I each got two packages of Pez candies, and two were left over. I just assumed that the two packages left over would be shared across the community, but Ian - ethical as usual - thought about our sleeping comrade upstairs, and wanted to make sure she didn't miss out on her share.

As Ian ran up the stairs, I screamed at him - as loudly as you can "scream" if you're trying not to wake someone out - and urged him to stop and come back. As usual, I was ignored.

But Ian provided a reassuring report when he got back downstairs, indicating that he didn't wake up Mommy:

"She was asleep, so I dropped them in her hand."

(January 21, 2012)