Mallomars are controlling, manipulative cookies. I’ve been staring at the empty box for a while now, trying to understand. It’s a weird box, bright yellow, with the word ‘Mallomars’ spelled out in blue and white fluffy, cloudlike glory. But that’s not what gets you. It’s the image of the cookie. Dark chocolate pours perfectly over a shining marshmallow, flowing evenly over the top and down the sides to the graham cracker base. The creepy part is the missing bite. It’s a perfect partial ellipse, with nary a crumb or tooth mark. The bite looks to have been surgically excised, leaving a smiling cookie offering you its high fructose corn syrup happiness. ‘Eat me,’ it says. ‘You’ll feel so good.’
So I did.
The whole box.
This is why my relationship with food needs to change. This is why I need to have my gut replumbed and my brain rewired.