“Priscilla wants Peeps. She’s providing them.”
My wife informed me of these things as we shopped for Easter Brunch ‘garnish’ last week. Chocolates, jellybeans, Jordan almonds, gummi Easter treats. Quite a cornucopia of sugar.
I was glad we weren’t buying Peeps. I dislike the marshmallow concoctions. Recent flavors like Dr. Pepper doesn’t sell them to me. My sister loves them. Especially stale Peeps. Gads.
I joke about Peeps flavors with friends. None of them like them, either.
“What if they were beer flavored?” I asked.
My friends seem horrified and mystified. “How will that work?” one asks. “Will they be sweet?”
“Yes, marshmallow beer,” I answer.
Eye rolling and groans meet this answer.
Priscilla provided a bowl of neatly organized Peeps. She’s always organized. Just her way.
I was staring at the bowl. She joined me. “I don’t see any of the new-flavored Peeps,” I said.
“No.” Priscilla frowned. “I only buy traditional Peeps.”
Hours later, clean up began at the Brunch. It looked like the bowl of Peeps had lost one. I had not seen anyone eating any.
“Want to take some Peeps home?” Priscilla asked.
“No, thanks,” my wife and I sang together.
Priscilla nodded. “We’ll probably just throw them out.”
But I wondered: will she really eat them in secret later?
Michael Seidel, writer 
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