This is a risky topic.
I write about it with boldness, no apologizes. I run the risk of losing the affections of those who disagree with me. I’m going to polarize the internet world with this post alone. It’s going to be dangerous, but like my boyfriend said once (I think his dad said it first, but I can’t be too sure), “If you’re not living on the edge, then you’re taking up too much room.” I’m creeping dangerously close to the edge, internets. I refuse to take up an unnecessary amount of space. Why do you think I didn’t choose to grow taller than 5’2″? It’s because I’m so dang considerate, that’s why. I don’t want to take up space. So I live on the edge. With this post.
Before I begin, and before you metaphorically stomp out of here in disgust, let me point out that this is a Things That Most People Think Are Dumb But Amanda Thinks Are Awesome post, NOT a Things That Everyone Thinks Are Awesome And Amanda Does too post. I realize that I might offend and anger. But I’m willing to stand up for what I believe.
Internets, the time has come for me to confess something.
I like – no – LOVE
THERE. I said it. And do you know what? IT FEELS GREAT. I love Marshmallow Peeps. I do. I know it’s irrational. I know that I don’t appear to be classy when I say this. Candy that can only be found at Dollarama is probably not of high caliber. People who eat Peeps are the people who spend time in Walmart (but not our Walmart. Those people are Mennonites). People who eat Peeps are probably the same people who buy Kraft Singles plastic cheese slices. I know that the Peep-loving part of the population is likely not refined. But the sugar is. And how I love me some refined sugar.
I can trace my love affair with the sugar coated gelatin treats back to my early years. I played at a friend’s house, and she had sleeves upon sleeves of Peeps. Being the cautious allergy-ridden child, I read the ingredients and was thrilled to see that they were in fact gluten free and therefore safe for my consumption. I ate one. It was ok. I ate another. It was ok. Then we put one in the microwave (there wasn’t exactly wonderful parental supervision at this friend’s house) and watched it grow. The outside was crunchy and the inside, gooey. It was like roasting a marshmallow over a campfire, but without the fire smell and with more sugar. Coloured sugar. Needless to say, I was intrigued. Not hooked, but intrigued. The next week I returned to the house to find an open sleeve of Peeps. The same Peeps from my last rendez vu. I was disappointed but ate one anyway. And then I discovered how much more satisfyingly glorious stale Peeps were than fresh ones.
Gross, right? I know. It’s completely bizarre and twisted. But I love Marshmallow Peeps. They are marshmallowy without being too dense, sugar coated and colourful for the young at heart and have tiny crunchy eyes for a little texture surprise. I can down a sleeve without thinking. It’s a guilty pleasure. Except I don’t feel guilty at all. You want me to devour you little Marshmallowy friends? Why I’d be DELIGHTED.
I could keep developing my defense of the little darlings, my Peeps platform, if you will, but I won’t. Why?
What is your position on Peeps?