I open my mouth to scream another threat at Drew, this one to his manhood, when an idea strikes.

I glance at the clock and quickly rush around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients I need.  While I wait for the chocolate to melt, I grab a small, white packaging box from under the counter.  I prepare it by adding a sheet of pink tissue paper inside to line the box and affix a “Seduction and Snacks” sticker to the outside.  I watch the clock out of the corner of my eye as I get down to business, crossing my fingers, toes, and even my legs that this idea would work.

Thirty minutes later I finish placing the last of the new candy inside the box, seal the lid closed, tie a neat, pink and white ribbon around it, and grab my purse from under the counter.

“Drew, I’m leaving.  Don’t forget to go next door and wait for Liz’s delivery so you can sign for it,” I yell to him as I head to the front door to make sure the “Closed” sign is in place. I have about twenty minutes now to run home, pick up Gavin, and drive to the meeting spot.  The magazine adamantly insists that I bring Gavin with me.  This magazine interviewes people due to customer recommendations.  Customers write into the magazine and suggest businesses they believe should be spotlighted for one reason or another.

The magazine had done some research, made some calls, and for whatever reason decided “Seduction and Snacks” needed a write up.  When the magazine called to set up the interview, they told Jenny that the customers raved not only about the sweets we sold but also about the owner’s mouthy little son that ran around the store and made everyone laugh.  It had been a toss-up on whether or not I should be horrified by this or happy that Gavin’s penchant for swear words and constant talk about his wiener was finally doing something good in the world.

It's still hard to wrap my head around the fact that our businesses had taken off so quickly.  Never underestimate the need for sugar and sex in small-town-America.  With one last look around the darkened store to make sure everything is in order, I step outside to the faint sound of the computer speaking one last Drew-initiated command.

“Son of a face turd, you whore.  Touch my taint and tickle my balls.”

~

I walk into Playland McDonalds with butterflies flapping in my stomach and my hand clutched tightly around Gavin’s.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous.  I’ve done a few phone interviews since we opened and those had been a piece of cake.  Maybe it's the fact that I’ve never done something like this with my son right next to me - my lovely son who likes to talk to random strangers about his poop.

This will be fine.  No big deal.  Just a couple of questions.  Easy peasy.

“Remember, best behavior,” I remind Gavin as we make our way through the crowded restaurant to a booth in the back.  I can see the interviewer already seated with her laptop open on the table.  We make eye contact and she gives me a wave.

“I want to play in the playland,” Gavin whines.

“You will, as soon as the interview is over.”

“That’s dumb,” he mutters.

“Too bad.  Be good and you can get a Happy Meal.”

“Can I have pop too?” he asks.

I pause, contemplating his request.  Being a parent is tough, especially when it comes to negotiations.  You don’t want your kids to think they can have whatever they ask for, but you also don’t want them to tell the interviewer of a national magazine that their nuts smell like cheese and it’s because she’s so ugly.  Pick your battles, people.

“Yes, you can have pop.  If you’re good.”

We arrive at the table and introductions are made.  I direct Gavin in first so he can sit by the window and then slide in next to him.

“Hi, Gavin, my name is Lisa.  I love your shirt,” the interviewer from The Best of Baking says with a smile.

Gavin looks down at the shirt Drew had bought him a few weeks ago.  It's black and in white writing reads, “Parental Advisory: Lock up your daughters.”

He just shrugs in response, and I resist the urge to shoot him the evil eye and remind him to be good.

“This is just going to be an informal type of interview,” Lisa explains.  “I just want to ask some questions and chit chat.  Just pretend like I’m one of your girlfriends.”

She has a huge smile on her face like I totally understand what she's talking about.  She obviously has never met my girlfriends.  We don’t sit around in dresses, sipping daintily from glasses of champagne while we politely discuss politics.  We chug beers, do shots, and call each other thunder cunts.

I slide the white box across the table towards her, figuring I might as well start right off the bat with the bribery.

Lisa’s eyes light up when she sees the white box with our signature pink ribbon around it.

“Oh my goddness, you brought me chocolate!” she exclaims.

“It’s something new I’m trying out.  I crumble up crispy bacon and mix it with white chocolate.  The clusters are drizzled with caramel and butterscotch.  They’re called Bacolate Bunches,” I tell her.

She tears into the box and takes a bite out of one of the clusters.  She moans and groans and sighs for so long it gets a little uncomfortable.  I'm now privy to what Lisa sounds like when she has sex.  Awkward.  But at least she likes my spur of the moment candy invention.

“So, Gavin, how are you doing today?” Lisa asks after she finishes the chocolate and finally gets down to business.

“I wanna play, this is boring,” he complains while staring longingly at the other children who are running and screaming around the play area.

“Gavin, be nice,” I warn under my breath with clenched teeth and a smile on my face for Lisa.

“Oh, it’s fine!” she tells me cheerfully.  “I’d like to play on those toys too,” she says to Gavin.

“You’re too old to go on the slide.  Your butt would get stuck ‘cuz you’re old.”

With the evil eye in full force, I glare at Gavin. “If you don’t watch your mouth, you’re going home to take a nap,” I say quietly.

“Naps can suck it,” Gavin whispers as he smacks his elbows on the table and puts his chin in his hands angrily.

Obviously, he’s already forgotten the Happy Meal and pop he was promised.  God, if you’re listening, just help me not kill him.  At least until we’re home.

“So, Claire, how’s business been going at the shop?”

I stop glaring at Gavin and hope that by some super mom power he will still be able to feel my wrath floating around him and keep his mouth shut.

“Business has been going very well.  I still have to pinch myself every morning when I walk into that place.  I am absolutely amazed that people actually want to buy things I make,” I tell her with a laugh.

I can’t believe someone is interviewing me for a magazine.  I’m nobody.  How is this happening?

“Are you finding it hard to juggle owning a business and spending time with your family?” Lisa asks as she typed away on her laptop.

“That’s the beauty of owning a business.  Basically, I can do whatever I want.”

Lisa laughs and continued typing.

This sort of IS like talking to one of my girlfriends.  Liz never pays attention to anything I say and is always busy doing other shit when I’m pouring my heart out to her.

“Can you elaborate on that just a little bit?” she asks.

“Well, if I want Gavin to spend the day with me, he can.  I don’t need to find a sitter or send him to daycare when he isn’t in preschool.  And if I need to close up early to take him to a doctor’s appointment or to go to a function at his school, I can easily do it without having to get permission from someone else or have my pay docked for missing time,” I explain.

“My doctor gives me cookies and stickers.  His mean nurse is a wiener face and gives me shots,” Gavin adds.