Not the sickly little white pellets you purchase in the store.
But the sticky squares of goodness I used to make with my sister. They were
delicious. Rolled in toasted coconut they were addictive. We would tint them pink, because we were silly like that and liked everything in pink.
Everyone thought we were odd for making our marshmallows. All that trouble. The beating and beating and beating to make them perfectly fluffy. Finally, when we were finished they would eat one, if only to prove us wrong for our fiendish love. You would watch their eyes widen with delight as the homemade addiction would melt in their mouth.
I miss marshmallows. I miss my sister who would make them with me.
I wish she'd come home. I'll promise to make her marshmallows if she will.
Aw, sweetie, don't cry. I miss you too. Next time I come home we'll make our very marshmallow chicks and then we'll roll them in cocoanut to make them fuzzy and then we'll bit off their heads. And laugh diabolically.
:)
Ooooh! I'll totally smash your fuzzy chicks with either an open palm, or a closed fist, I do so love torturing marshmallow creatures. That's probably one of the best things about this upcoming holiday: the opportunity to tyrannize chicks.
^^ That paragraph worries me a little.
Then you would be right at home here.