a love letter to snacks

Dearest Snacks,

You know who you are, and this is why I admire you so. It's not your sweet melt-in-mouth goodness, or the crunch that's come (oh!) unexpectedly — it's that's mellow feeling you hollow out inside me that magnetizes me to you without a fight.

But, Snacks, it's clear to me that perhaps our love affair is lopsided. Perhaps I need you more than you need me. Perhaps you can just as easily find another unassuming girl who could get swept up in all you have to offer — and maybe she'd have no guilt in indulging you. I think you actually said this to me once, that I liked you more than you liked me, and then you swiftly exited through the backdoor. I found it rude at the time, and I honestly can say that I don't know why I'm even bringing that up to you now.

I apologize. This is a love letter for Christ's sake. I was going to say for Hershey's sake or Crunch's sake, but I decided to go for sincerity and got the Lord involved. Even just then I would have substituted Lord for Truffle or something insanely perfect, akin to Christ. Or a something like a Whatchamacallit.

This, my darling Snacks, is a love letter. And I love you, Snacks. I love you so much.

Dammit. I feel like a fool for how long I've loved you, stood beside you as you taunted the chubby kids with your soft exterior, and smooth as butter (and sometimes butter) center. Loved you as you made me feel bad about myself. Loved you even when you stood on the top shelf, just out of my reach, but not my sight. You're cruel, but I love you anyway.

I do, Snacks. Please, please — I beg you. Don't leave me ever. The sun couldn't set without the moon there to step in, just as I couldn't live without you. Don't ever say I can't have you. Don't try to make me enjoy you in moderation. I will have all of you or none of you. Anything else would be too painful. You agree, don't you, Snacks?

All or nothing when it comes to you, Snacks. I won't have it any other way.

You understand, don't you? I'm sorry it has to be this way. I love you too much, and maybe, just maybe, that's my problem. But, I won't talk to anyone about it, Snacks. I can only console this imminent grief with more of you. Treat my disease with that which will make me worse.

Let me know how you feel after reading these prose, and if you feel the same as I, either leave me alone forever, or meet me at the Jewel. Aisle 5. You know where to find me.

Love forever, or never,

Brigid E Marshall

smiley face cookies

Today I was busy. Busyness is key when you have nothing to do. Errands remain one of the great time eaters, and that's what I did. I ran errands all day. Then, when the time arrived to fill my gut with cookies, a traditionally wonderful thing to do when mildly depressed, I looked no further than Highwood's Il Mulino Bakery. As my mother would say, "It's a touch of Europe right in our backyard." I told her she should be a copy editor or at least in advertising/marketing, but I'm pretty sure she'll stick with nursing.

The Smiley Face Cookie has been a staple in my life since I was six. On Saturday mornings my dad would generally pick one out of the six of us kids to take to the bakery, and pick out cookies for everyone. Whenever he would take me I would ask for the Smiley Face. It is a day-brightener to the highest degree.

You know the worst thing that could ever happen when dealing with Smiley Face Cookies? I'll tell you. The worst thing is going into the cookie box and realizing that your choice is not there. The worst thing is seeing the crumbs leading toward the stuffed face of your younger brother. He literally turned my smile upside down and ate it.

This, this was the last straw.

The one thing truly good about my day today was eaten. $2.50 down the belly. And, let me tell you, when it comes to eating someone else's Smiley Face Cookie, all I can say is, "Good Luck," because that pathetic "Sorry" doesn't cut it.