Nunsence

So I went to See’s Candy yesterday to get Easter goodies for my mom. I normally dread See’s at Easter week — imagine 400 moms, grannies, aunties and the random male or two (usually sent by a mom, granny or auntie) fighting like Tartars over the last box of Scotchmallow eggs. The last time I attempted it, I shoved through the throng far enough to grab a lone milk chocolate rabbit, threw a wadded-up twenty toward the young sales lady cowering behind the counter and ran. Did not stop for the customary free See’s sample, just ran.

Yesterday however, was much different. The crowd was down to an easily managable eighteen people, all more or less well behaved, and there were plenty of Scotchmallows, jelly beans and maple walnut eggs to go around.

As I was waiting for the sales lady (candy butcher? See’s girl? What is the appropriate term here?) to fix up a special boxed assortment for mom (one half Scotch Kisses, one half dark chocolate buttercreams, her favorite) I was joined on line by a rather imperious-looking nun who, judging by the many packets of nonpariel jelly eggs in her basket, was also doing her holiday shopping. Looking from the sales lady (I’ll stick with that) to the esteemed Sister, I couldn’t help but notice the similarities in their work attire. Both wore crisp long white garmets tastefully trimmed with black, almost identical in their respective modest styles. In fact, if it weren’t for the nun’s habit, I’d have thought the Sister was coming on to do her shift. “So here it is, Easter.” I said, looking from one woman to the other. “The busiest time of year. For both of you.” The sales lady was amused and laughed.

The nun, not so much.