Monday, March 15, 2010

Memoir Monday: Which Came First, The Sickness Or The Egg?

(Hey y'all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I'd be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab my code down there, and I'll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along!)




Since Easter is right around the corner, and since I can't see a peanut butter egg without thinking about this story, I've decided to finally get it out there for the world to hear. 

My brother Brad (The Groom) and I shared (and still share even though I'm a diabetic and can't have any unless it's sugar free and that gives you the hot poops) a mutual love for candy. However, there was not an abundance of candy when we were growing up, because my parents didn't want us to get fat. 

Shut it. 

Anyway, candy was a rarity. It was precious. It was never wasted. If that meant we had to lick a wrapper to get a couple more tastes of that Butterfinger, well, we did what we had to do. 

Halloween was a favorite time of the year, because we were able to go to the church social, play some games, and stock up on enough candy to last us almost a week. 

Another favorite time? Easter. This was because we had REALLY cool grandmothers. Still do. But back then, one of our grandmas would give us an...EASTER BASKET! This was always a wonderful thing, and we loved it. 

However, one year, it got real. 

My grandmother decided to get us just one piece of candy that year, and when she told us, we were incredibly disappointed. Then we saw it. 

It was the biggest peanut butter filled chocolate egg we had ever seen. 


We almost lost it right then and there. We were so excited. We were on top of the world! This was the coolest Easter EVER! 

You know...because of the candy. Oh. And Jesus.  

So we ate on those things.  

And we ate on them. 

And we ate on them. 

Are you seeing the pattern here? 

Folks, I'm not lying to you when I tell you that we ate on these eggs for at least two weeks. TWO WEEKS. It was almost as if it were a chore. We'd come home from school, clean our room, eat some egg, do our homework, and then we could have free time. 

It. Was. Awful. 

After the first 3 or 4 days, it didn't even taste good anymore. However, we couldn't throw them out. That was even more unthinkable than continuing to eat them. It would have been heresy, plus I honestly think my parents enjoyed seeing us suffer. 

To this day, I can't eat peanut butter that tastes like the stuff in that egg. If I so much as smell it, I get sick to my stomach and I just want to puke. The only peanut butter egg I'll eat is a Reeses, other than that, I won't touch them. 

I told Brad that I was going to tell this story and I asked him for a quote. Here was kind enough to provide me with one. 

"That thing was the size of a freaking basketball, not an egg, and I swear I vomited like 12 times one year after eating that conglomerate of commodity peanut butter and stale chocolate. But we were poor and we would never throw away candy, so we ate it even if it did make us sick every year." 

I told you so. You have your own special code of ethics. We have ours. 

Sloat Rule #2: Never throw away candy. Even if it makes you vomit and hate commodity peanut butter. 

That's real. 

Other Non-Peanut Butter Filled Bites Of The Memory Egg: (GO READ THEM!)