March 23, 2012 § 10 Comments
All through our childhoods, my brothers and I were only allowed candy on Saturdays – lørdags godt, “Saturday treat.” Each Saturday we were given our allowance, to drop into the cleaned out yogurt containers that functioned as piggybanks, plus a quarter (adjusted up over the years to a dollar, a parent does have to recognize inflation), to clasp hot and sticky in our hands as we ran to the store to spend it on any candy of our choosing.
We had a complete free market phenomenon going on with our Saturday treat allotment, and (without remotely having the terminology to talk about it) we became very shrewd at calculating the relative utility of each variety of candy as compared to its cost, in order to determine how we could best balance the quantity versus quality of our purchases.
My brothers erred on the side of quantity. My indifference curves must have been steeper because I tended to buy exactly the candy I preferred at the time, even if it meant I wouldn’t walk away with pockets bulging.
I remember an intense Mambo phase. Do you remember those? Fruit-flavored chews in a similar genre to Starbursts, but ever so much better. For a long time I also harbored a strong preference for Sour Patch kids. But, as I grew older (and our financial allocation closed in on a dollar), I – being female, and all – developed a powerful love of chocolate. I recall many sweet, melty Saturdays of peanut butter cups or Three Musketeers Bars.