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Marshmallow Madness.

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I don’t think I’ve ever really been a “gourmet food” kind of guy.

I like my gourmet to be all I can eat.

Part of it, I’m sure, stems from my inability to appreciate good food in any kind of moderation whatsoever. If it tastes good, I want thirty-five of them, and that’s final. But I think another part of it comes from the way I was raised. Our family was on a budget, and so “fancy” meals usually consisted of chicken being baked and not deep fried.
I am also not usually allowed to go on grocery shopping excursions with The Missus. She has a good reason for that, and it’s because I’m quite the impulse shopper.

Boiled peanuts are the WORST THING ON THE PLANET.

Well, about a month ago, the stars and moon aligned, and Jupiter was in the third house of the rising Mercury Sable, and The Missus said, I’m going grocery shopping, and you’re coming with me. With eyes as bright as big, sparkly, bright things, I tagged along.
As we traipsed up and down the aisles, with me trying to put things in the cart, and the kids trying to put things in the cart, and The Missus trying to keep all of us contained (at one point she threatened to make all three of us ride in the cart), we went down…
The Candy Aisle. 
This naturally caused utter mayhem, and The Missus suffered a small mental breakdown and then a slightly herniated disc by trying to put all three of us in the cart at the same time. I escaped, and I turned to grab the first thing I could get my hands on.
Imagine my surprise when I saw this.

Piña Colada and chocolate marshmallows.


German chocolate cake and cinnamon marshmallows!

I was blown away. Literally, blown away. This served The Missus well, because in my moment of shock, she kicked me in the back of the leg, got my arm behind me, and yelled, “SO HELP ME GOD IF YOU DON’T KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE CART I WILL KILL YOU IN FRONT OF OUR CHILDREN!”
When I was a kid we had two kinds of marshmallows.

The first.


And the second.

Yeah, you could get the little ones in a bunch of different colors, but they were the only things I’ve ever eaten that actually tasted like pastels, and they weren’t appealing to anyone. Besides, they melted down white, or a funny eggshell color, and just looked weird. So no, the colored marshmallows don’t get counted here.
Anyway, each kind of marshmallow had exactly one function.

Little marshmallows.


Big marshmallows.

Now listen. If you are saying to yourself, “But he forgot about putting the little ones in hot chocolate!” Well, you leave. Right now, click that red “X,” and you leave, and you don’t come back. You are weird, and I don’t like your kind. Marshmallows should NEVER go in hot chocolate you sick, sick person. Rice Krispie treats and S’mores. That’s it.
So, being properly amazed at the advancements in marshmallow flavoring science, I decided to hit the Internet for a little soft and fluffy research. Imagine my surprise when I found the this Etsy shop that sells “Gourmet Marshmallows.”
Seriously. They have every flavor under the sun, and then some. I’ve contacted them about letting me create a new flavor and then name it after me in trade for the mention on this blog. We’ll see how that goes.
But right now I want to focus on the problems that these flavored marshmallows in grocery stores could cause. Turn on your imagination and walk through this conversation with me.
Man: “Honey, I’m in Walmart and they’ve got fifteen different kinds of marshmallows.” Woman: “Listen, I don’t have time for this. I told you get the big ones.” Man: “I know, but they have different flavors.” Woman: “No, they’re just different colors. They all taste the same.”Man: “No, this bag here is cinnamon flavored.” Woman: “What? Have you been drinking again? Are you screwing with me?”Man: “No, here’s one that says ‘Pina Colada.'”Woman: “Are you in the liquor store? Are you? So help me, if you spend my marshmallow money on booze…”Man: “Sweetie, I’m at Walmart. Here’s one that says ‘German Chocolate.'”Woman: “I hate you. I ask you to do one simple thing. Don’t bother coming home, we’re getting a divorce.” Man: “…”
You see that? I think flavored marshmallows could be a cause for divorce. I’m not saying this would be a common occurrence, and if your marriage dissolves faster than the marshmallows that caused them maybe you shouldn’t have been married in the first place, but still. It’s tragic, really.
I haven’t gotten to try any of the flavored marshmallows yet, but I’m planning a surprise maneuver the next time we go into Walmart. It’s a foolproof plan, really, and I just know it will work. You see, the next time we pass them, I’m going to fake a low blood sugar attack. I plan on getting woozy, spinning a couple of times, crashing into someone else’s basket and then hitting my head on the floor right by the marshmallows. Then, when The Missus walks over and asks me what’s wrong, and everyone else is screaming and calling 911, I’m going to say, “It’s the low blood. I need something with sugar in it. Look, marshmallows will work (cough cough). No, no. The German Chocolate ones.”
And yes, I created an Etsy account just for this blog. Don’t judge me.