The brown wrapper and silver foil used to mean somehing special to me. They used to mean a magical few moments with sweet darkness melting on my tongue while a smile spread across my lips. Alas, the silver foil is long gone, replaced many years ago by a plastic mockery of the old wrapping, and to my utter disappointment, more than the wrapping has changed.
Unwrapping a Hershey bar used to be special, even a little mysterious. The slightly stiff outer layer of paper would whisper at me when I peeled it open carefully, or hiss when I went for the more visceral RIP. The foil would uncrinkle with a metallic sigh. The dark chocolate would be revealed, it's sections waiting to be neatly broken and shared among all present, or simply savored one at a time.
Tonight, when I ripped open the slippery plastic painted in classic Hershey silver and brown, it clung to my fingers with staticky insistance, and I had to fight to make it fall to the table top, for later crumpling. And the chocolate? Well, perhaps my palate has been spoiled by too much chocolate noir, tempered with Godiva raspberry bars and Dan's truffles, but my Hershey bar resembled chocolate about as much as my chihuahua resembles a wild wolf – there was a slight relationship, but not much more.
Am I too much a snob because I no longer find pleasure in the simplicity of a Hershey bar, or is it the candy company that is failing to put forth a product worth savoring.
Maybe a little of both.