“No one was sure why or how the Swedish fish first arrived, but from that point forward, things were different.*”
Like children sitting in front of a movie, our hands were irresistibly drawn to the bowl, again and again, until our mouths were filled with the chewy sweet morsels. Thomasina had trouble keeping her mouth closed, she had so many. They clumped in our teeth and made conversation difficult, so we sat quietly working on our individual portions. Our tongues twisted around the smooth lumpy wads and our saliva pooled in our mouths.
In a particularly fateful and inelegant moment, Samuel’s spittle dripped onto his shirt, which prompted Frances to start laughing, spraying bright red hunks of unfinished fish all over the card table and onto Carol, who had the misfortune of choosing that moment to lean over the table for a glass of water.
We never ever had Swedish fish at poker night again.
*This was a line on my friend’s Facebook page today, and I stole it to make a prompt out of it. Thanks, Sean!