Each year I put loads of thought into what I will wear on Christmas day. My family have a bunch of traditions and as its summer in Australia, we often sit outside in the nice weather playing games in the garden. All the women wear their Mikimoto pearls and good dresses. This is one of the dresses I am considering wearing. All the gents wear bow ties. We play some games that result in everyone getting nick nacks, including, inevitably, a bag of marshmallows.
The bag of marshmallows is a running family joke that stems back to a time that I had a brush with a marshmallow I shouldn’t have. I had a really rough day at work, I came home tired and looking for a chance to relax at home and I came across a marshmallow on the kitchen bench. I love marshmallows, so to me, this was a jackpot.
One should always be suspicious of things that are without their containers on the kitchen bench, so I hunted around for the bag. I couldn’t find it anywhere so I inspected the marshmallow. It was in perfect nick without a single blemish. I shrugged, and resolved to ask my mum where the rest of the marshmallows were when she got home. I made myself a hot milo, put the marshmallow on top and enjoyed its melty delicious flavours mixed in with the chocolate of my drink.
When mum came home, I asked her where the rest of the marshmallows were. My suspicions were aroused when she responded with ‘you didn’t eat it, did you?’
She then proceeded to, in fits and starts because the whole story seemed too cruel to tell me all at once, the following chain of events, which I have kindly put into chronological order and precise detail for you.
My grandparents went to the supermarket in one of the rattiest shopping centres in town. When they got their trolley back to the car and had loaded in all the groceries, they found some marshmallows tumbling about in the bottom of the dirty trolley basket. Not being the sort to litter, they assumed their marshmallow bag had burst and spilled into the trolley, so they scooped them out of the filthy metal basket and took them home.
When they got home, they discovered that their marshmallow bag packaging was, in fact, intact. They had brought home the marshmallows of a complete stranger. Not wanting to waste anything they offered them to my mother when she visited, for her to give to the dogs. Mum thought this was an odd thing to give the dogs, but she went along with it anyway. When she got home, she gave my dog the marshmallow, and my dog had taken it tentatively, walked onto the carpet and politely dropped it onto the floor before slinking off (I’m pretty sure she has a hard time saying no to people). My mother then was worried someone might trod the rejected marshmallow into the carpet, so she picked it up and PUT IT ON THE KITCHEN BENCH.
Shoes: BAIT Footwear via Modcloth
Now, I’d like to pause and review the marshmallow story here. At no point, did someone say ‘WE SHOULD PUT THIS LOST MARSHMALLOW FROM THE BOTTOM OF A MANKY TROLLEY IN THE BIN’. At no point did someone say, ‘THE DOG DOESN’T LIKE IT, WHATEVER LET’S PUT IT IN THE BIN.’ To this day it still baffles me that this marshmallow was so precious that it came home with my grandparents who were unable to leave it behind or throw it out, and was then welcomed into the family home by my mother, and even after MY DOG rejected it, she couldn’t find it within herself to throw it in the bin.
In summary, I ate a marshmallow that was discarded by an unidentified shopper and left to roll around in a filthy supermarket trolley, which had been handled by at least 3 people and was eventually rejected by my dog after she had carried it around in her mouth and dumped it on the lounge room floor.
I can only be grateful that I decided to sanitise the marshmallow in boiling water before ingesting it.
To top it all off, at the time I was photographing things every day for the 365 challenge, so here is a photo of the stupid marshmallow.
So now every year at Christmas, we wear bowties and pretty dresses, play games and share a bag of marshmallows.