Ah, those smells of childhood that can take you right back: brewing coffee, dad coming in smelling of gasoline and cold from using the snowblower, spaghetti sauce simmering on the back burner, Coppertone, the ocean on a hot day, fresh ditto paper, and the enticing scent of a box of Crayolas. No other crayon had that heavenly scent.
When I was a kid, anyone who owned a box of the 64 Crayolas was held in envy by the rest of the class. It was a symbol of prestige, comparable to someone owning a Rolex or driving a Lexus today.
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