With my head in the (pink) clouds

When I was 16 I was asked to help out at a fundraiser for my family’s synagogue. They were going to have a Hanukkah Carnival, complete with carnival games, a dunk tank and even kosher hotdogs on sticks. Spending all Sunday volunteering at a Jewish carnival was really the last thing I wanted to do, but my mom made it very clear to me that I didn’t have a choice. So I signed up on the volunteer list and in the section where I was supposed to write which booth I wanted to help with I scribbled, I like candy. At 16 this seemed sorta funny and vaguely rebellious.
The carnival organizers took a more literal interpretation. I showed up the day of the carnival and was immediately assigned to my station, the cotton candy machine. Now, I really do like candy and this at first seemed like an ideal assignment. But I quickly learned that working a machine that spun colored sugar crystal into fluff wasn’t all I had hoped it would be. The machine was loud and gave off a lot of heat when spinning, but the biggest problem was that as the candy was being cottonized it would often leave the confines of the machine and whip around into the nearby atmosphere. This happens to be exactly where I had to stand to work the machine. After about an hour, my clothing and skin were lightly shellacked with a layer of hardening pink sugar webs.
By the end of the day I was miserable and wishing that I had signed up for anything else. Even the dunk tank seemed liked a smarter choice than I like candy. Seeing how dejected I looked, one of the carnival organizers came over to talk with me. “Adam, you did a good job today. We really appreciate all of your help. In fact, I have a surprise for you.” Was I hearing this right? Were they going to offer to pay me for my day of hard, candy-coated work? “Adam, you can go ahead and make yourself a complimentary stick of cotton candy.”
I gave a fake smile and the hardened pink bits of sugar on my face crinkled. Sure, I said, that sounds like a nice idea. After all, I like candy. The moment the carnival organizer turned his back to walk away I set the machine on high. Not only was I going to make the biggest cotton candy ever, I wasn’t going to waste my time putting it on some stupid paper stick. As the bits of pink clouds whipped around the inside of the machine I reached down and slowly turned my hand in counterclockwise circles. After about a minute my entire hand and lower arm were encased in a massive pink cocoon.
I unplugged the machine and removed my arm. Holding my hand in the air like a triumphant pink torch I shouted across the room to the carnival organizer, Thanks for the surprise! and walked out towards my car happily stuffing my face with flavored sugar.