The Buster Bars

They are a downright force these Buster Bars. Anything from Dairy Queen, really. We're talking about the only fast food option I had as a kid, and the one for which I (still) feel the most amount of affection and loyalty. My neighbors and I used to throw together all manner of fundraising activities as kids, all in the name of getting ourselves to the DQ.

Back to the Buster Bars. Being mostly a Blizzard girl in my adult life, I had forgotten about them. Fast forward to last week, when one of our vendors showed up at the office with a box of Buster Bars. Oh my gosh, it was the best day ever. Surely no object on this earth could have more quickly taken me back to age 10, sitting at a folding table in my neighbors' driveway selling froot loop bars and lemon squares, counting my change until I had enough for a DQ run.

Having been reminded of the deliciousness that is a Buster Bar, I stopped at DQ on my way home. I bought a whole box, just for me, and explained to the DQ counter worker that someone had brought them into the office and it had been the best day of my life. It was an exaggeration obviously, but she laughed in a nervous, pitying kind of way; a way that suggested she figured I must be a pretty unfortunate person if my life had peaked because of free ice cream. It was the same sort of expression that Warwick Davis wore when my sister and I, positively beside ourselves, approached after spotting him at Disneyland during a family trip and confessed in near hysterics that Willow was our favorite movie. Epic to our teenaged selves (have you seen Val Kilmer circa 1988??), I've always suspected Warwick thought we were a little tragic for our cinema preferences.

In any case, it's Friday night, and I'm celebrating with a Buster Bar. Or six.