The Candy Tree

Yesterday I told Tate (Clover's youngest) that I have a candy tree in my back yard. Every so often, when the candy on the tree gets ripe, I pick it and take it over to their house. He looked suspiciously at me, and said that he wants to see my candy tree. I promised that he could come over around Halloween, when it will be ripe again, and he can pick some candy off the tree. He said that he would just go over to my house and sneak in my back yard, but I told him that unripe candy will make him very sick, so he has to wait until it's ripe. He wanted to go plant 3 tootsie pops to make his own candy tree, but I somehow convinced him that they wouldn't grow. I told him that my dog once took a bag of Hershey's kisses and buried it in the back yard. We found that bag, but maybe she buried some other candy, and that's what made my candy tree grow. His older and less gullible brother Chase suggested that the candy tree gets watered with sugar water, but I hastily vetoed that, and said that we don't take any extra special care with the candy tree. It just grows.

So it's all set. I've invited them over on the 28th of October for a candy harvest. I'll have to post pictures of the great event afterward.

I also told Clover and her husband that Joe has a tattoo of the Marshall logo on his butt. (He doesn't, of course, but is an avid fan of the Marshall amps/stacks/heads/whatever they're called.) That lie backfired, as he told me on the way home that he wants to get a Marshall logo tattooed on one cheek, and a Gibson Les Paul tattooed on the other cheek. He's joking, right? Of course I won't let him, so it's a moot point, but still-- nah. He's joking.

I've got to quit telling lies.