Snicker

When I was a child, my parents told me I didn't like Snickers. At Halloween, after going to all the houses, diligently saying hello to all the neighbors, even the creepy ones, I would take my stash of candy home. I was ready to gloat over piles of crinkley-wrapped sugar like a pirate gloating over treasure.

"You don't like those," my father would say, grabbing a snack-sized Snickers. He had it in his mouth a moment later.

"Okay." I was happy with piles of Smarties and Tootsie Rolls. And the occasional Reeses Peanut Butter Cup, which I never would have given up in a million years.

Then I got older.

At some point, I realized I really did like Snickers. And, more importantly, I realized I'd been snowed by my father.

Even still, every Halloween, he'd still grab a couple of Snickers. "You don't like these," he'd remind me.

I just gave him the stink eye.