You continue to cry. "No! Want candy! Mama said have candy!"
Your mother points to the Baby Ruth bar in you hand. "You do have candy, Ruth dear."
"Bad candy!" you wail, throwing it on the counter. "Want other!"
You go and pull open the drawer, but it's too high for you to look in. Your mother comes over and says, "Well, there's some Mounds. Would you like those?"
You imagine that Mounds would probably make you develop breasts. Which would be freaky enough, but as a two year old? "No!" you wail.
"How about a Snickers?"
You imagine that would just make people laugh at you, and you don't find anything funny with the situation. Then you realize something. "Thwee Musky-ears?" you cooh hopefully.
"A Three Musketeers?" your mother says. "Oh, Ruth! You've got such a big vocabulary!"
"Thwee Musky-ears," you insist. That, if anything, should make you a strapping adult male. Of course it might also turn you into three of them, and make you French, but it's still better than being two.
Your mother rummages around in the drawer. "No Three Musketeers. What's this?" She pulls out an ancient candybar from the back, covered with dust, which she wipes off the wrapper. "A Clark bar? Good lord, this thing dates back to the 1950s!"
A Clark bar? That definitely sounded male, and Clark Kent was as old as the fifties. Being Superman sounded great! "Gimme!"
"Dear, this is rather stale," your mother said. "I really don't think we should be eating a historic candy collection."
"See?" you ask hopefully.
"Of course," your mother says, showing you the wrapper. "See? This was made in 1952. You don't--"
Her words are cut short as you grab the bar and bite straight through the wrapper. It's stale, dusty, nauseating, yet still sweet and you swallow a bite. Then you find yourself growing taller. And older. And turning male again. Then you face become stretched taut and you feel...stale. But chock full of preservatives.
Good lord, the Clark bar hasn't turned you into Clark Kent, but Dick Clark!