My mother loved Peeps. Yes, Peeps. Everyone’s top pick for the Creepiest Easter Candy Award. These often-stale, flourescent products of modern science were never my favorite. I remember a student in high school fixed one of the marshmallow birds on his locker door, where it hardened and stayed mounted there for months, beady eyes staring out into space like a trophy kill from CandyLand.
They always brought a smile to my mom’s face, though. I can still hear her purr “Oh, Peeps! I just love Peeps!”
This morning, I was remembering her affection for Peeps and thinking how I hadn’t seen a single Peep all year, and here it was the day before Easter. They don’t tend to be stocked in the earthy-crunchy places I frequent. Then, I went to a concert this evening, ordered myself an amazing crepe from a street vendor, and low and behold, it was garnished with a Peep. Of the rabbit variety.
And I ate it for Mom. I am happy to report it was the freshest, finest-tasting Peep I ever had.