Here’s what I like most about M&Ms: I like that, in the privacy of your own mouth, without another soul knowing, you can crack the sugar coating, eat that completely, then press the now-naked little nubblet of chocolate against the roof of your mouth and let it melt. Eaten that way, one little M&M delivers an awful lot of pleasure for a surprisingly long time. And to keep that good thing going even longer, I buy M&Ms in the biggest-size packs I can find then divvy them up into ziplock plastic bags, so I can have one on the side of the bed (now you know all you have to know about me) and one in my purse, after all, you never know when the subway will get stuck and you’ll need something comforting to tide you over.
Being so nuts about M&Ms for as long as I’ve been – I was brought up on the “melts in your mouth, not in your hands” jingle and tested the veracity of it almost daily – I was pretty excited when I turned a corner on Broadway and discovered that there’s a huge, two-story store devoted to nothing but the little candy. Of course I dashed in, but my visit was brief – there wasn’t an M&M in sight, at least not one that you could eat. AARRGH. When I walked in, I felt like a kid in a candy shop; when I walked out, I still felt like a kid, but a disappointed grumpy kid who’d been let down by the grown-ups. Good thing I still had my plastic-bag stash within reach.
SO NOW HE TELLS ME: Seems like I didn’t explore far enough or high enough. Joshua, our son, says I missed a wall of M&Ms in every possible color as well as the opportunity to pick and choose only the colors I like best. Another AARRGH, but I’ll know for next time.