Hot cocoa always reminds me of elementary school. Something possessed me in the 5th grade to sign up to be one of those "safety patrol" kids. You know the job: you wear a special orange sash, and tell kids when to cross the street. I was lured in by delusions of grandeur, and highly disappointed when none of the kids would listen to me -- even the frickin' third graders. I had to take a test to get the job too: predict how long it would take a car to get to where I was on the side of the road. Really it was just a depth perception test, and after giving me the depth-test, my eye doctor always told me I could parallel park her car anytime.
Anyhow, after "patrol" on the cold days, I would go back into the school and put away the sash. They always had a water heater and huge Sam's Club sized can of Swiss Miss waiting for the safety patrol kids.
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