Oh, Those Yellow Marshmallow Chickens
By Anna Alexander

Does anyone else remember them? From my childhood come memories of Holiday candies. Christmas was full of chocolates, boxes of creams and cherries. Filled candies in rainbow colors, and something called hard candies. Remembering the difficulty in chomping on them, I would not be surprised to find most my contemporaries from those days with dentures.

All of the Christmas candies have become just memories. I no longer indulge nor do I miss them. Easter candies are a different story. Chocolate companies have jumped on the Easter bandwagon but what do you find? Everyday candies in pastel wrappings! That does not make them Easter candies!

My candy hunger waits each year for the stores to display my weakness. Yellow marshmallow chickens and pink marshmallow bunnies. Tobacco companies have admitted cigarettes are addictive, but for addiction I nominate the aforementioned marshmallow confections.

As soon as they appear on the shelves, they somehow find their way into my shopping cart. Funny, I never remember putting them there; they have the ability and agility to hop into my cart when my head is turned. While I am busy purchasing healthy fruits and vegetables and fat and sugar free products, these chickens and bunnies are playing hide and seek so I may not see them.

Somehow they elude my vision while at the checkout line. Hiding among the carrots and apples, they are safe and smug that they have fooled me. They keep well hidden until the sack boy places the groceries into my car. Just as I am about to shut the lid to the trunk, I see them. Like oil they have floated to the top. With astonishment, I see them there, the outside sugar coating winking at me. I hear a voice emanating from within the cellophane wrapping "Let us out!"

My hand moves without volition of my own and plucks the package from the bag. Looking at it incredulously, my mind asks "How in the heck did they get in there?" Thinking the heat from the sun would cause them to melt, I rescue them. Furtively surveying the area, I hurriedly toss them onto the front passenger seat. This being done of course when I have no passenger.

The key in the ignition sets the engine to racing; the sun is now streaming in the right front window. The yellow of the chickens seems to shout at me... With my fingernail I slit the cellophane packaging, Drat there goes my nail. I will have to file that soon.

From the torn package an aroma assails my nostrils. I begin to salivate thinking of how good these chickens were last Easter. Will they be as good this year? My mind is curious and tells me I need to try one for the sake of comparison. My fingers fumble and I fish out a marshmallow chicken. Its beady eye stares at me as I open my mouth and bite off the head. Delicious! MMMMMM it is as good as I remembered. Will the remainder taste as well?

Pop! It goes into my mouth. It is so fresh there is no need to chew; the marshmallow melts in my mouth. My lips are covered with the sugary outer crystals and I happily lick my lips. Yummy!

My hand reaches to put the car in reverse. Somehow it misses the shift and plucks another chicken from the package. No time for formality or nicety, the whole chicken is popped into my mouth.

Gads, does anything taste as good? I lick my lips again and my finger tips so the sticky residue will not get on the stick shift. The car is in reverse. I am backing out of the parking place, but wait! I am weak from hunger. Another chicken should do it.

Putting my foot on the brake, I retrieve yet another marshmallow chicken from the package. The chicken seems to fly into my mouth and it is gone before I can properly savor the taste. Out of a package of five, two remain.

I really need to get home. I have ice cream in the trunk. Milk needs to be put away.

This time, I am determined not to eat another - to get out of that parking place and go home. I will save the remaining chicks until I am home. I will reward myself for my endurance, for my self control.

OOPS! I'll be darned! Another chicken flew into my mouth.

It is hard to concentrate on my driving. I allow the marshmallow to melt and slide down my throat.

In thoughtful consideration, I realize the remaining chicken is really a road hazard. What if it should fly into my mouth while I am driving? How could I explain if it caused an accident? Best to finish the box right now, the last chicken gives its all for safety's sake and gently dissolves.

As I pull into traffic, I am exhilarated. I feel good. Especially when I recall seeing a box of pink marshmallow bunnies atop one of the bags. It is a large box. There must be at least 20 bunnies. I promise myself I will make them last. I will only eat one a day or two at the most. After all, like the yellow marshmallow chickens they are endangered specie. Their likes will not appear again until next year.

Congratulating myself, I drive home a little faster than usual. I do have to put that ice cream in the freezer and the milk away. Of course, I shall be tired from the effort of emptying the car and putting all those groceries away. When it is all done, I will sit down, open my box of pink marshmallow bunnies and eat my allotted two for the day. Again, I don’t feel like cooking dinner. How do eighteen fat free pink marshmallow bunnies sound to you?

anna alexander 3/26/97
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