Reese’s and Me: A Love Story
Life is a challenge from the moment we enter this world–we kick, we scream, we beg the doctor to put us back in. At times the world can be coldly cruel or breathtakingly beautiful. Over the years, we’ll all experience our share of soaring highs and devastating lows.
But in my life, one thing will never change. One thing will always be there for me when I need it. My constant. Something I took solace in while I weathered the inevitable dark storms of life–the skinned knees, broken hearts, wedding day jitters, surprise mother-in-law visits and killer pregnancy cravings (to name a few).
And, if there’s a God in heaven, it will be there for me as my last meal when I shuffle off this mortal coil.
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
It all began one clear chilly day in early September when I was born. I had spent the previous 40 weeks while in utero siphoning the chocolate peanut butter elixir from my mother as she indulged her intense sugar cravings by eating her weight in peanut butter cups. As soon as I came out of the cozy confines of the womb, I was on a desperate hunt for the sweet stuff, only to be met with years of bland formula and strained peas. I knew deep in my heart I would taste that decadent treat again. I just needed a few teeth.
Once those molars broke free and trick or treat season rolled around, I was set. But with four older brothers to survive, my existence was nothing short of hell. It was a dog eat dog world, and I was wearing Reese’s peanut butter cup wrapper-lined diapers. Soon I realized my one true beacon of hope rested on the ability to hoard all of the Reese’s candy in a toy box underneath my pink canopy bed. My Barbies guarded my treasure with their lives.
However, my brothers were savvy; my stash was discovered (damn that G.I. Joe!) and my world almost ended that fateful day. Although my brothers were downright ruthless in their attempt to snatch that chocolately peanut buttery goodness out of my death grip, I never let it go.
Things were going along fine, then my mother had another baby. And, to my horror, it was yet another boy. At first I had a hard time warming up to my baby brother. Thankfully, my dad, being the wise man he was, suggested I think happy things when I held him. So I did. I closed my eyes tight and pretended to see the one thing I cherished most in life. It worked. I loved my brother with all of my tiny three year old heart. I just had to remember not to lick his face.
My mother said I was a bit hesitant to help her with his feedings. She eventually had to stoop to bribery. Oh, the magical times I had! Here I am holding my brother, shoveling one peanut butter cup into my mouth after another while he peacefully drank from his bottle.
As the years rolled by, I grew to love my Reese’s more and more each day. I discovered that a big bag of Reese’s Pieces could double as the sister I always wanted. Here we are at Christmas. I’d always wanted a sibling who loved me unconditionally and never wanted to throw my Barbies in the toilet or give me wedgies.
My lifelong relationship with Reese’s even survived the horror of the Bad Yearbook Photo from seventh grade. I was never more proud than the day I crafted my very own Reese’s ribbon barrettes. Granted, I was made fun of in the halls for months afterward, but I didn’t care. I still had my peanut butter cups. Life was good.
As I entered my twenties, I longed to share my life with someone. I had to find my soul mate. But who? Who could possibly garner my respect and admiration? Was there a man worthy? I prayed every night I would find a man who loved Reese’s peanut butter cups as much as I did. Little did I know, but that man existed, and he was already living his own charmed life a mere town away, having spent most of his youth enjoying the 1970s pastime, Peanut Butter Cup Toss.
We met, we fell in love. We were as perfect for each other as chocolate and peanut butter.
On April 15, 2000, we had a wedding worthy of a royal couple. No expense was spared. About halfway through the reception, my custom-designed peanut butter cup dress started to melt, but it was oh, so worth the thousands of hours my bridesmaids spent hot gluing them on.
We went on to have two beautiful children. My son grew up to be an enigma: a boy who didn’t like chocolate.
But my daughter? Her fate was sealed the moment her birth certificate was official.
And now as I watch my daughter’s love for peanut butter cups grow, I take comfort in knowing the Reese’s love I had will be passed down from generation to generation. I can die a happy woman.
Now if you’ll excuse me, Easter is over and sitting in front of me is a 3 pound Reese’s peanut butter egg with my name on it.
Disclaimer: No cavities were formed in the writing of this post. Please act responsibly. Brush your teeth once in awhile. And for God’s sake, would it kill you to eat some broccoli. No one can live on candy alone. Excessive use of Reese’s peanut butter cups can cause extreme mood swings, seizures, and a bad case of the glassy-eyes and twitchy-face. Use at your own risk.
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