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| Peeps |
I pulled the comforter over my head in the bed and laughed to myself because I thought it was a hoot.
It had been going on for a week and I could tell that Husband-Head was starting to get ... ummm ... shall we say ... a little peeved.
It began when I was grocery shopping last week. While going past the “seasonal” aisle, I noticed all the Easter decorations and candy. One thing in particular struck me and I had to stop.
Peeps.
If you're not familiar with Peeps, I can only describe them as little sugar-coated marshmallow candies in the form of “chicks” that come in yellow or hot pink.
Let's just say they are Easter's answer to Christmas fruitcake.
They're disgusting.
But they were also on sale for $1 for a package of 10, and I simply could not resist.
I put a package of Peeps in my cart and planned out what I would do with them.
Not wanting Husband-Head to know I'd bought the Peeps, I hid them in the bread box, but he found them anyway.
“Why did you get these?” he asked. “We both hate these things.”
But my plan was to have fun with Husband-Head for Easter.
The first one went in his lunch box the next morning, sitting on top of his sandwich. I wanted him to open his lunch box and see the obnoxious little yellow marshmallow thing staring at him.
“Ha-ha,” he called from work to respond. “I bit its little head off and spit it out.”
“Why?” I asked innocently. “Did you know that the box says they're gluten-free?”
“I don't care. They're gross,” Husband-Head retorted.
“Although they do have 39 grams of sugar in one Peep, and I think the expiration date is long after we'd both be dead,” I mused.
The next morning, I found a Peep sitting on the speaker of my computer.
Now it was war.
But little did he know, another Peep had made its way into his gym bag.
“Did you realize that Peeps don't last very long in the steam room?” he called to inform me. “Now stop it.”
A couple of days later, he started to get a little mad when he discovered a Peep lodged in the toe of his right sneaker.
“You've ruined my shoe — it's all sticky!” he cried. “Knock it off, already!”
But I couldn't. The Peeps had become like the old 1980s Maidenform lingerie commercial with the tagline, “The Maidenform Woman. You Never Know Where She'll Turn Up.”
The next Peep sat innocently on Husband-Head's car dashboard when he got in to go to work.
He didn't even bother to respond.
Another one made it into his underwear drawer, although I was careful to not actually place it ON the underwear, following the shoe debacle.
But it was the ones in the toilet that really pissed him off.
After we'd gone to bed, I crept out and took some blue food coloring and several Peeps and put them in the toilet so it looked like they were swimming in a lake and would be the first thing he saw in the morning.
When he got up, I waited and laughed under the covers.
“It's not funny anymore, Heidi!” he bellowed from the bathroom.
Then there was silence, so I went into the bathroom to see what was going on.
“This wasn't very smart,” Husband-Head commented having just flushed the toilet. “This could cost us a lot of money if it clogs up the pipes.”
We both stood there and watched as the toilet tried to suck down the nasty little marshmallow chicks. Two of them made it, but the third one just floated in circles. ...
“I would've fished 'em out, but why'd you have to go and pee on 'em?” I demanded to know.
“Because I had to!” Husband-Head yelled back. “Enough with the Peep jokes. It really isn't funny anymore.”
Maybe so, but there was a small problem.
I still have one Peep left.
