Once upon a time there was a vending machine …

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It wasn’t a fancy vending machine. Just your stock-standard type, not one of those flashy ones with the bells and whistles, edible underwear and chilled beers. It had chips, choc and soft drinks. It was still divine in my eyes. Then one day, one horrible spring day, it broke. I cried, I yelled, I screamed, until, like a white knight riding his stallion out of the mist, the vending machine repair man arrived. He worked into the wee hours trying to bring my beloved vending machine back to life, but nothing could revive it. Dead. Empty. A dead, empty shell filled with nothing but … junk food. The sweet and savoury delights were encased behind the glass and no one could get to them – except Mr Repair Man with his magical key. I spied him using it one day, watched him empty out the lifeless machine. Chips, chocolates and soft drinks were taken out, one by one. I salivated. I waltzed into the kitchen to chat. After a quick flutter of the eyelashes and a jiggle-jiggle of the hips, he offered me a free soft drink. I spotted the the growing pile of chips on kitchen bench and bit my lip. Must. Have. Treats, my inner voice spat out. “May I?” I asked, pointing at a block of chocolate. “Take whatever you like, take anything,” he smiled. Like a woman on the run, with no priorities other than collecting her life’s possessions in five seconds flat, I scurried to the bench and grabbed packet after packet of ridiculously delicious free junk. My femme fatale image immediately disappeared as I screeched to my comrades, “Get your asses in the kitchen NOW! We’ve got free vending machine treats, ladies!” The group stampeded into the kitchen like lions on heat, sniffing out the remains. We took our plastic-covered victims back to the table to feed. And boy did we feed. Crumbs flew, soft drink spilled, chocolate smeared.

It was fucking awesome.

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