I loved treats. I love treats. I will always love treats. Growing up I always loved to munch on something sweet. My closet on 2135 Lake Drive, the first house I ever lived in, housed one of the tastiest morsels, a giant Hershey Kiss. From what I can faintly recall, it was the size of a medium soccer ball. It was beautiful, dripping in its silver foil, just begging to be unwrapped and devoured. My brother Randy and I kept it hidden, for fear our parents would confiscate this delicious treat. Growing up in a family of four meant that my brother and I had to share a room, so we both decided to hide this delight in the back of our bedroom closet. What a grand idea I thought. We could keep the kiss hidden from our older siblings, our Persian cat Alex, and anyone else who dared to trespass. My brother and I felt comforted knowing that the kiss was nearby, in our bedroom, just waiting patiently to be eaten. Everyday for months, like teeny tiny mice, we would scurry into our closet, flip on the light, and creep ever so quality to the back of the closet towards the direction of that kiss. We would nibble and gnaw on that kiss, taking turns, one at a time. Teeth marks were imprinted all over that kiss, leaving a pattern and design marking our indulgence. For the life of me, I cannot remember how long we kept that kiss in our closest, all I can do is fondly look back and laugh. I can smile and I can still remember that smell of milk chocolate coupled with collecting dust as Randy and I dined on that delectable treat.