Fudge Hole (I promise this is the last post about my non-vacation)

While we were at the beach we rented this big honking jeep thingie. I kept calling it random things like the Jeep Intimidator and the Jeep Lexicon, but in reality it was the Jeep Commander. We had originally reserved a minivan, thinking it would be the most practical mode of travel for six adults and one baby, but Dr. SOB got sold on the upgrade. It actually ended up be far less practical because in order to fit the tiniest of things in the 'trunk' you had to fold down the rear row of seats, rendering them completely un-sitable. If we went anywhere with the baby and his stroller, it turned from a vehicle that seats 7 adults to a vehicle that seats 2 adults, 2 uncomfortable adults and one car seat.

We always make a trip to the Virginia Beach boardwalk to paw through the wares at the tacky stores (like this one where Tori was sad to find she wasn't allowed to play with her favorite things) and to buy some yummy sugary goodness at the Candy Kitchen. Some folks like saltwater taffy, but I myself am partial to the fudge. I try and limit myself to two quarter pound pieces, the smallest increment they will sell. Because they have such a vast selection, it usually takes me quite a while to decide which pair of fat laden sugar blocks will be coming home with me. I finally decided on chocolate peanut butter and 'killer' fudge.

When we got back into the Jeep Inquisitor, I sat lovingly caressing my fudge box. Eventually I had to put it down, but where? I looked down and before my very eyes I saw this:


Interestingly enough, this little compartment was exactly one eighth of an inch wider than the Candy Kitchen half pound fudge box! Look!


So even though this car was incredibly inconvenient and guzzled gas like there was no tomorrow, we decided right then and there we loved it because of it's unbelievable perfect fudge hole.