I have a love-love relationship with peanut M&M’s. I’d prefer an indifferent-indifferent relationship.
Yes, I love peanut M&M’s.
How to measure my love? In 38-ounce party bags, which is how I usually get the crunchy, sweet spurts of joy. I love peanut M&M’s that much.
Party bags can tempt me into overindulgence. Or – more accurate – scream like a toddler clasping a kitten while clamped in the jaws of a hungry grizzly bear just out of hibernation.
“Save me!” the child shrieks.
“Eat me now!” the M&M’s squeal.
I’m on to this confession today because I slipped. After a long, pandemic-induced hiatus from sweet temptation, I succumbed to weakness. I indulged. A lot.
I keep an M&M dispenser in my university office – mostly to welcome students for conversation about their work. The pandemic ended that practice because the campus was mostly empty.
Then, recently, a student gave me an M&M party bag. I filled the dispenser. And started chomping. I write now with a sugar buzz.
So, bless the student who gave me M&M’s. And darn her.
For I am weak.
