I Am A Super Sweet Marshmallow

First of all, I always thought it was marshmellow and not marshmallow. Why do we use an “a” instead of an “e”???

Anyway, these marshmallows (I hate having to type an “a”) are much larger than the average little doohinkity white puffs you throw in hot chocolate. What you are looking at are HUGE marshmallows. They are by far the biggest I’ve ever seen, but of course, I live under a rock in seclusion most of the time and was born before dinosaurs roamed the earth. I mean really, I still have Farrah hair!

Regardless of the size, marshmallows are very soft, squishy and sweet. Please notice that all of those words start with an “s” just like my real name. Not The Redhead Riter, the name I was given at birth.

I have other things in common with these sugary splendors. (Did you catch the “s” in those two words?)

My heart and body is like the pink marshmallow in many ways.

I’m soft and fluffy because I am having a hard time controlling my weight with my slowing menopausal metabolism and diabetes. On top of that, the spoon that is loaded with ice cream won’t leave me alone. No, really, it chases me around my home, so I have to eat it.

That ice cream does help with my emotional state, but only adds to the glow-in-the-dark flesh that is on my posterior end. Well, it isn’t really there as much as a little bit ALL OVER.

The pink marshmallow is also squishy, smooshy and easily melts.

My heart beats with too much compassion and it melts with just the slightest of reciprocal love. However, I often do not require the other person to be accountable for their actions towards me. So this little squishy heart of mine gets taken advantage of and is smooshed often which causes great emotional pain.

Guess what?

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hearts heal.

Eventually.

I like loving easily. I don’t want to be cold or bitter.

I would say that so far, I’m doing pretty good!

The marshmallow is no match for my sweetness. I am the Queen of Sweet whether I am consuming it or acting like it.

I know that was stretching it a bit, but I have to go overboard with the self-talk in order for any of it to actually stick for longer than five seconds. (Please tell me you didn’t miss the pun with “stick” and “sticky”)

Wait! Do I see wrinkles on that marshmallow? Isn’t there any escape?! I’m even wrinkled when I’m a marshmallow!!

Now it is your turn to go stand in front of the mirror and do a little talking to yourself. What are you going to say to help build yourself up??

Come on, don’t be shy! Tell me how great you are because I already know you’re wonderful! I promise it will help you feel better.

Your Marshmallow Friend who might be a little high on sugar,

Please don’t tell my mother.