my dad took me to a discount chocolate store the other day. one whole wall was devoted to "defective" chocolates, which seemed a little forboding, and the prices were rock bottom. twenty cents for a chocolate almond bar missing the almonds. forty cents for a gift box of semi-melted chocolate mints. twelve cents for little mini bars with labels proclaiming "it's a booy!" or "congrads laura and adam!" my dad grabbed chocolates like they were going out of style, like he had once overbought those baby blue alligator polos. "this is for your aunt," he said of a big tin of misshapen chocolate squares marked down to sixty cents. "she's diabetic," i pointed out. he shrugged.

this store didn't have shopping carts, which made the venture a bit of a struggle. my dad had armfuls of chocolate, and he kept dropping candy bars. some of the bars had coupons on the back of the label. "get a free big mac!" one read, "offer expires 9-1-1995."

"coupons may go bad, but chocolate doesn't," my dad advised. "so load up."

eight dollars and a trunkful of chocolate later, we were on our way out.

my dad used this opportunity to lecture on how to enjoy the finer things in life while being a 'working class' person. "you don't have to spend hundreds of dollars in order to partake in luxuries. it's all about finding a deal." he then went out to discuss how he was now buying close-out cigars on the internet. true he had to buy two hundred at a time, and maybe the burn wasn't exactly even, but for fifteen dollars he was getting a closetful of cigars and living like a virtual king. he smirked, so proud of himself, and proceeded to eat a caramel bar from the early eighties, with a label on it that read "hyppa st. patrikc's dya!"