Imagine my anguish as I encountered this frightening scene on our kitchen counter top. On the very eve, no less, of National Toasted Marshmallow Day.

Look at them.

The random configuration of white blobs. Chemically the same, sure, but shaped differently. Always shaped differently. Like snowflakes, no two marshmallows exactly the same. Terrifying.

Emboldened by their unique individual spirits, strengthened by their seemingly infinite numbers, it's a small battalion of bloated, gelatinous imps, probably multiplying, like evil rabbits, and strategizing.

Silent. Deadly. Ready to attack.

And those ghostly reflections and dots of light, eerily visible on our quartz, imbuing the marshmallow souls with thoughts of marshmallow mayhem and domination, as they wait, certainly, to catch me sleeping, so they can advance, band together, and team up to smother me.

Yeah, people love 'em--especially kids. The Utica Public Library even had a Marshmallow Sculpture event recently, as children worked the medium into towers, bridges and animals, bringing the marshmallows to life. Frightening.

If your house is like ours, marshmallows and S'Mores are major stars. And National Toasted Marshmallow Day (August 30th) is the high holy day of marshmallows.

For me, however, it's a day from hell. Even watching others eat them is unpleasant. Is there anyone else who can't stand them?

The marshmallow, a whitish white--
Amorphous burden none too light,
Will not today, nor any date,
Find its way upon my plate.
Even the roasting goes awry;
The marshmallow, it will not die:
It melts in flames, it makes a mess,
The smell the sight the fear the stress.
Here and now my final wish:
I close my eyes, they don't exist.

BONUS VIDEO (the opposite of marshmallow):

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