I think you’re old enough to hear my Peep story now

March 13, 2007 at 7:27 pm | Posted in silly pants | 18 Comments

I was an animal lover long before I was born. My mother always told everyone that I would become a veterinarian someday. As a toddler I would hold an ant in my hands for an hour without harming the creature.

So it was with heavy heart that my seven-year-old self loved to eat Peeps. I mean, they were just so darn cute and the monster in me loved to eat them. I’d eat off their heads first because the extra sugar in the eyes was just too tempting. And then I’d look at my headless Peep and feel an overwhelming sense of shame for doing something so horrible to a small sugary chick. I’d quickly shove the rest in my mouth so that I would no longer have to live with my shame.

It was a vicious cycle for me as a child. I so loved Peeps. I so hated that I ate such sweet little defenseless marshmallow birds. I was a Peep cannibal, and I was sure I was going to Hell for it.

I must’ve been seven, eight maybe. There I sat on the toilet, probably singing some Rafi tune, lolly-gagging as I went about my business. And when I was finished, I looked in the toilet to make sure that everything had gone smoothly.

What I saw in those next few seconds haunted me for years. It was a headless Peep. Undigested! A Peep’s bum and torso! I was mortified, ashamed, and I told no one.

Now that I’m an adult, I realize that this Peep could not have been mine. My stomach acid would’ve made the little fellow unrecognizable. Some one must have tossed it in the loo–probably my sister Carrie who still eats only the outer shell of Jelly Beans. But it took me many years before I could eat another Peep after that incident.

Now, fourteen years later, I’m back on the Peep wagon and still eating them head first.

The moral: You won’t go to Hell for eating Peeps. Tell your children.

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