I was browsing the aisles of Target recently, and what did I behold but this:
I hadn’t seen this beauty in years, but she was never far from my mind. Made one every day of summer of my early teenage years and ate the whole Pyrex in one sitting while watching Melrose Place.
I wanted to be Sydney because she was pale and still sexy.
At 15, I thought life was supposed to be something out of Dazed and Confused: keg parties, high-waisted, wide-legged jeans, and advances by the likes of the slim-hipped Jason London. Instead, it was lonely afternoons spent freebasing processed desserts. Teenage angst, in a nutshell.
Today Target is my late-20-something answer to Melrose Place. Ah, guilty pleasures; don’t mind if I do.