Oh, hell yes, that’s what I said. And I’m in possession of such an arrestingly awesome Apple Butter Rugelach w/ cream cheese dough recipe that people I share it with are suddenly compelled to fabricate stories about how their grannies grew up in Polish ghettos. I’m tellin’ ya, they’re that good.

Clearly, the tried and true M&M didn’t deserve a kick to the curb but this new treat had temporarily fuddled up my thoughts. With my eyes rolling back in my head, chanting mmuuuhhhhuhuh muuuuuhhhh after each chewy, sprinklely gnaw at ecstasy I had to shove my daughter off my lap as I became snickerdoodled into a case of gonflement phallique. It could have made for some necessarily awkward explanations

To be superfly you can’t be a private dick, you have to be a pimp and a hustler and a drug dealer. Your threads gotta have flash, dig? Your suit can be brown as long as it’s got at least six different shades in the plaid and some red and orange to give it jazz. You can wear white too, as long as we catch the yellow flash of jewelry under the blazer and your cape throws some shadow over your baby blue boots. You gotta have soul and it’s got to be divided into a kaleidescope of variegated identity. In short, you just got to have some M&M’s in you. Introspective and tortured, candy coated chocolates which burn with better intentions