DON'T Pass Me the Marshmallows... Blech!

I post so much junk, I never know if I’m retelling a story. I’m getting old. Pretty soon it will be, “Bou, we heard that one already. Move on.”

Blog Bro T1G’s post on mushrooms reminded me of this. I was emotionally damaged by a marshmallow. Yes it is true. And because of the incident, I now can not eat anything with certain textures… I cannot eat marshmallows, cool whip, whipping cream, marshmallow fluff or whatever that stuff is… some custards I can take, pudding seems to be OK. In college I used to joke that if it was white and gooey, no.thank.you. Needless to say, that usually got a few laughs.

I remember the incident as if it were yesterday. I was just a little over two. My bro was a baby and my Mom had emergency gall bladder surgery. Her Mom, Nana, came to stay with us. She set me on the counter to feed me ice cream. I thought it was chocolate and being the chocolate freak I am, and evidently was then, I was very happy. But then it happened. She fed me a spoonful of this wonderful chocolate ice cream… and someone had put something squishy in it and I was freaked. Squishy things do not belong in ice cream. I remember it all… the sucking the ice cream off the spoon, the chocolate ice cream melting ever so slowly over my tongue and then… there was ‘something’ left. And I bit it. And it squished. And I got skeeved out. Permanently.

The ice cream was Rocky Road. To this day, I walk into any ice cream store and see Rocky Road listed and my skin starts to crawl. Who in their right mind puts white squishy stuff in good chocolate ice cream? Who?!

No, I do not do toasty marshmallows over a campfire. No.thank.you. I will eat the brown skin off of them, leaving the white goop for someone else. I cannot do S’mores… well I can, if I can have just graham crackers and melted chocolate.

I do not get whipped cream on ice cream sundaes. My order goes like this, “I’ll have a hot fudge sundae, vanilla ice cream, no whipped cream, no cherry” and sometimes the reply from the wait staff is something like this, “Oh, so you just want vanilla ice cream with hot fudge sauce?” Yeah. There you go.

Harvey & Co. joke about the Redi-Whip at the comment parties and I will go along, but you will notice, I always talk about chocolate sauce. You wouldn’t catch me dead with a can of Redi-whip, not unless there was some reason to induce vomiting. Blech.

No Whipped Cream on Pumpkin Pie. And I don’t eat those sandwiches called Fluff’n nutter or whatever they are where people put peanut butter on bread and then ruin a perfectly good sandwich with marshmallow fluff.

Nope. Nope. Nope. I’m damaged, folks. It’s been almost 37 years. I never told Nana. I was always afraid that it would hurt her feelings to know she and Rocky Road made me a White-Squishy-Thing phobe.