¡Malvavisco Delicioso!

Septemner 26, 2006

While looking for cat food in the deli, Deborah spied a dusty bag of pink and white marshmallows on the shelf and grabbed it. "Ahh! I want these!" she said.

The bag featured a smiling cartoon creature carrying what I can only assume was supposed to be a giant marshmallow, but looked more like the head of a penis. Or an enormous ass. A soft, pink, marshmallow ass several years past its sell date.

"Ugh," I said. "You're not going to buy those."

"Oh yes, I am."

And she did.

¡Malvavisco Delicioso! Hecho en México.

When we got home, I couldn't resist opening the bag. A little stale, I thought, squeezing one between my fingers. Not really a food exactly. Deborah was scared of the pink ones, so she took a white one and popped it in her mouth. She nearly choked. "Uck!' she said, spitting it into the garbage. "They're terrible."

I laughed, and said I told you so, then tried one for myself. While still chewing, I put another one on the end of a fork, fired up the stove and lit it on fire. After letting it sizzle for a second or two, I blew out the blackened blob and ate it, burning the roof of my mouth. I stuck another with the fork.

"That's all," said Deborah. "You're not allowed to have any more."

"Serving size: four marshmallows." I told her. "It says so right on the bag."

Deborah took the bag out of my hand and held it over the trash bin.

"Don't throw them away," I said. "You just bought them!"

"It was a mistake. They're gross."

I agreed they were gross, but convinced her to keep them, anyway. "In case of emergency."

As a type 1 diabetic, I keep fast-acting carbs around the house to treat insulin reactions. Marshmallows aren't ideal, but I've eaten worse in a pinch, and figured they might do the trick. This morning I got to try my theory.

"Shit," I said, after testing my blood sugar. "It's really low."

"What can I get you?" said Deborah.

"How about that bag of marshmallows?"

I ate about four or five in less than three minutes. A few seconds later, I nearly puked. I held my stomach and lay down on the couch. "Fuck. Pink fucking Mexican marshmallows. What the hell was I thinking?"

It took twenty minutes for me to feel normal again. My blood sugar was back on track, and the nausea subsided.

"I'm throwing these things away," said Deborah.

"Wait!"

"You've got to be kidding. After all that moaning? No way. "

"I know, I know. They're disgusting. But I want to take a picture of them first."

I scrambled for my camera and snapped a few pictures of the open bag.

"Are you eating them?" Deborah said.

"No," I said, as best I could with a mouth stuffed with a giant Mexican marshmallow.

Deborah laughed.

"I can't help it. They're evil."