Fun size candy is not fun at all

I would really like to know what exactly the definition of fun is.  Is fun a candy bar that is so small that it looks like it was just born? I really have a problem eating things that were just born.  It is not fun at all.  So, why name a candy bar, "fun sized?" Were the "sad sized" not selling well?

Did the candy bar marketers think that my life was so boring that a tiny candy bar would bring me to a state of euphoria that I have never before experienced.

It is really embarrassing to go to a party and there is a dish filled with these so-called "fun sized" candy bars swaddled in tiny, crinkly papers that you have to try to hide after you open each little bar because you don't want anyone to know how many you are eating.  Then you crinkle when you walk.

If they were fun, they would be the size of a loaf of bread.   I would not eat an entire loaf of bread, ever.  But, somewhere along the way, during the course of popping "fun sized" bars into my mouth like tic-tacs, I went and gave myself Type II diabetes.  Am I supposed to stand there and count the bars as I eat them?

Here is how it actually plays out...Chomp. Gone.

I have no idea how many times I do that.  It is a very complex thing to count and eat at the same time, like multitasking.  My brain and my body are completely blindsided when I am doing two things at once, like trying to text and drive an ambulance at the same time.  I have trouble doing that.

I get very stressed at having to rip all of those little papers off of the bars and then trying to stuff them in my pocket or a baby's diaper and then have to figure out who I am going to blame for the deed.  But if there isn't a fresh baby around, guess what?  I got 32 crinkly papers to try to nonchalantly dispose of.

Then,  to top it off, I  remember "you are what you eat."  I guess that means I should eat skinny people.  Why did I eat all of that chocolate?  They are too small! Just because they are smaller, I feel I can eat significantly more of them.

My life, in those moments, starts to spiral out of control.  I start to get frustrated.  Agitated. The crinkly sounds drive me nuts.

  The baby starts crying.

My stress levels and confusion helplessly converge into one giant psychotic machine of delusion and despair.  I start to shout and scream and fling myself across the room.  The evening pathetically becomes a blur as I perilously try to conquer myself.  Did I crash an ambulance earlier?  I drift around, completely unaware that I am either in the beginning stages of a sugar hangover or a chocolate induced seizure.  I get cocky.

The room starts to spin.

Inevitably, the next day, I get a phone call.

"Wow, you were so much fun last night! Thanks for making it the best party ever!"

After I hang up the phone and inject myself  in the stomach with a syringe full of insulin, I realize that maybe the candy marketing people are very clever and know what they are doing after all.

I really should not be so quick to judge.