Short-Term Mallomars

Everybody has a weakness. Mine is Mallomars.

No matter how hard I try to cut back on sugar, I always seem to have a box of these delightful little goodies somewhere in the house.

I allow myself two at a time, once a day— well, maybe twice on one of those days— usually with a little cordial-sized glass of milk or a cup of coffee. For reasons I can’t fully describe, only these two beverages work. Tea doesn’t cut it. Water is pitiful. And don’t even think about Coke or any other sweet drink.

You need a balance, see, between the rich dark chocolate, the melt-in-your-mouth marshmallows, that crumbly graham cracker crusty thing — and a smooth, creamy liquid. Hey, there’s a reason that your mother (if you were lucky) gave you milk and cookies after school, not orange juice and cookies. Yecchh.

But there I go, digressing again.

And while I’m at it, the reason I try in vain to give up sweets is that current thinking has sugar as the new tobacco. This is bad news for some of us. Very bad news. And sugar is in everything. Everything! If you don’t believe me, read Oh Sugar!

To make things even worse, today two of of my worlds collided:

MY LUST FOR SUGAR — AND MY SHORT TERM MEMORY

I had a project to do on Word, nothing too difficult, but one that would require me to concentrate, which is getting harder all the time, and I thought that the least I could do for myself as a reward for being Little Miss Virtue was to provide the requisite pair of Mallomars and that little glass of milk. On  a “Naughty” red napkin, although I considered using the “Nice” green one. It’s kinda both, this little snack, isn’t it?

So there they were, on the side of my computer, looking all cute and comforting while I worked away. I had eaten one and was reaching for the other, when . . . Oh no! It wasn’t there! Gone! Disappeared into thin air! Or so it would seem. What had happened? I looked all over the desk, behind the computer, under the printer, on the floor, in the wastebasket. No dice. It was . . . well and truly gone.

But where?

Well, as Sherlock Holmes famously said,

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Impossibles in this case would include:

•Divine intervention: Could someone up there been trying to save me from myself?  Not bloody likely.

•Telekinesis: But even if those sneaky Russians agents have finally figured out how to do it (see below), why would they bother with Mallomars, not government secrets?

•A  ghost? I don’t think so. But did you know that Sir Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, was a spiritualist, and that I once worked for the Parapsychology Foundation alongside the renowned medium Eileen Garrett, whose claim to fame was communicating with Sir Conan?

Of course you didn’t. You think you know me, but do you? (BTW, Mrs. Garrett hired me because I had a really swell aura, so there.)

Having worked with the Foundation, I have some experience with  telekinesis and ghosts (although not divine intervention).  And yes, Russian scientists, as well as ours, have been known to experiment with parapsychology to get their hands on our secrets.

The answer to The Mystery Of the Missing Mallomar, however, is not impossible, or even all that improbable. It’s actually pretty obvious.

I ate it.

Eaten and forgotten. Just like that. In no time at all. Hey, this all happened really fast.

So after I had searched high and low and concluded that it was, alas, simply my short term memory short circuiting again, I had a thought, always dangerous in my case.

What if. Just what if. . . The food you forgot you ate didn’t count? Think about it. You have that short-term memory thing going on anyway — personally, I’ve had it since childhood (see The Absent-Minded Toddler)— so why not put it to good use?

What ice cream? Me? Never touch the stuff. Two helpings of pumpkin pie? How could you even think such a thing? Another Werther’s Chewy Caramel? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I had one Mallomar. The other one is . . . gone. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

And what was my story again?