Hundreds of thousands of fans have watched me apply my trade on the largest HD television in the country.
Young women (12 and under) have screamed my name, I've received cash with older women's phone numbers on it, and at the end of it all ... I've taken a bow.
It took a mockumentary commercial (based on the coors light series "we salute you beer man" played on the big screen at Turner Field) to realize that I'd reached the pinnacle of my career.
Like most ascents to greatness, there were times of struggle.
I've climbed to the top of section 409 after being hailed by a excitable teenage boys just to hear a them ask me where the popcorn guy is, and as I trudge back down it hurts to listen to them snicker.
I've looked at former classmates redfaced, and told them that this is what I was doing to hold me over.
And I've been berated by drunken rednecks, too impatient to wait for the beer vendor, calling me derogatory female terms.
At first this bothered me. Now I can sense who's ready to buy, I embrace my craft, and I sell them.
Instead of getting as close as possible to my customers, I pass my cotton candy down a long aisle of seats, attracting the attention of every kid on the way. I ignore people when I'm going down the stairs, and sell to twice as many on the way up. I give you your change before you have time to complain about the ounces of product that I've just sold to you for $5. I smile, I run, I linger, but most importantly I sell.
For three hours I get paid like a stripper. I'm the Brett Favre of cotton candy vending. I don't really want to continue, but I'm still too good to quite.