What would I do for a Klondike?
Well if it happened to be the kind with itty bitty pieces of Heath bar in that deliciously melty chocolate shell, I would consider swiping one right out of my parents' freezer. I wouldn't consider it for too long though. I'd just go for it. I would stash it in my coat pocket as I was getting ready to take the boys out to the car. I would do it quickly, so the special copper-colored wrapper didn't catch their attention. I would take care to hug my mom against my left side, so the Klondike bar wouldn't get crushed. I would take it out of my pocket in the car and put it in the dark center console, again making sure no eagle-eyed toddler spied my treat. I would prepare an explanation and excuse for why he couldn't have it in advance, in case I wasn't clever or fast enough. (In other words, a big fat Mom Lie.) I would drive a little bit faster than normal because the heat keeping our fingers from freezing would also be warming that velvety vanilla ice cream. I would do my best to stash the bar in my own freezer when we got home. "What you gettin' in the freezer, Mommy?" "Oops, is this the freezer? That's not where your juice is! Silly me!" I would hustle both boy to their rooms and put them down for a nap 30 minutes earlier than normal. And then I would get out my un-crushed, un-melted, stolen and smuggled Klondike bar and eat it ever so slowly with my feet up on the couch and a sugar rush like none other.
That's what I'd do for a Klondike!