On my desk is a bag of Halloween candy orphaned by my daughter (who trick-or-treated as Laura Ingalls, by the way). It’s nice having a kid who’s not much of a chocolate fan.
In that bag are a couple boxes of Milk Duds — make that were a couple boxes of Milk Duds. A co-worker and I got to talking, and I mentioned that as a kid, I’d put a couple Milk Duds in my mouth, chew them up a bit, then spit pretend tobacco juice as I played cowboy. He said he did the same thing.
Growing up in the 70s, I was probably the only kid who’d pretend they were William S. Hart.