It’s on my mind nearly every minute of every day. I covet it when I’m awake. I dream about it when I’m asleep. When other teenagers were sniffing glue, I was sniffing Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil.
Of course, I can find coconut in Spain. But my recent travels to Chicago opened my eyes to a disturbing reality: By living in Spain, I am being deprived of coconut in its most exquisite forms.
It’s true! Every time that I stepped into a Chicago supermarket, I felt like Charlie Sheen stepping into Amsterdam’s red light district.
There were Mounds! And Almond Joys! And coconut cream pies! And German chocolate cakes! And Bounty bars! And Brach’s Neopolitans! And Hostess Sno-Balls! And my favorite of favorites…Raspberry Zingers!
And…and…and…I ate them! I ate them all! As often as I could! But it wasn’t enough! Not nearly enough!
Freedom, due process and a well-armed military are fine. But for me, the USA is all about one thing—highly-processed, fat-laden, plastic-wrapped vehicles for coconut.
God bless America!
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