Alec is a Girl's Name

I have decided not to title this post, on account of I couldn’t decide between the following—

1. All Because I Could Not, Would Not, Did Not Buy a Store Bought Pie

2. Maybe This Is Why My Grandmother Was Hesitant to Accept My Help When I Offered to Make Cookies

3. The Difference Between Ariel and The Little Mermaid

4. There is Karo Syrup on My Pants

I almost decided not to write this post at all. That way you could spend the rest of the night playing a game akin to which of these things is not like the other. Except not. Not like that game at all.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…

Well actually, I don’t really know where to go from here. I guess I could tell you how my evening started out with me glaring at a chocolate pie in Walmart and ended with me putting my Karo syrup-dipped pants in the hamper.

Oh yes. Good idea Alec. Let’s start there. 

Once upon a time, I was standing in Walmart, glaring at a chocolate pie.

I was going to bring the aforementioned chocolate pie to a Thanksgiving celebration. Because I couldn’t think of anything else which required zero minutes of prep time and fit into my budget of cheap.

Turkey was out of the question. For so many reasons. Not least among them I’m a vegetarian. Not most among them I don’t like when people look at me weird.

Anyway, mashed potatoes and rolls crossed off the list later, I was standing in Walmart, staring down a chocolate pie, trying to choose the one with the least whipped cream smeared across the top.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take a store bought pie to a Thanksgiving function.

Because what if the instructions for the Thanksgiving function were to bring some family Thanksgiving tradition food? I didn’t want the whole congregation thinking my family’s tradition was to buy sloppy chocolate pie from Walmart with whip cream smeared on top. I worked hard to ensure my family has holiday traditions. I’m not going to ruin that with one Walmart-pie fell swoop.

I changed my mind. I want the title of this to be One Fell Swoop.

I changed my mind. I want the title of this to be Useless Ramblings, Which No One Quite Understands About Karo Syrup and the Little Mermaid.

Don’t worry. I’m getting to the part about the Little Mermaid.

So I shrugged at the pie and walked away.

And then I started thinking about everything my family has ever eaten.

Yams, grape juice and apple cider later, I decided to make chocolate-covered, peanut butter rice Krispies.

Because even though I can’t remember if I have ever actually eaten those on Thanksgiving, I know I have eaten them at my grandparents’ house, and I know they have Karo syrup in them. And if anything SCREAMS holidays, it Karo Syrup.

Sorry for the capitalization. I really wanted to drive the point home there.

So I set off to the 5000 aisles in Walmart for 4 ingredients.

I’ll skip the part where I buy Advil and check out, and drive home, and unload my groceries, and watch a Tinker Bell movie while my milk goes bad.

So then I’m stirring all the ingredients. Dropping spoons into Karo syrup. Stuff like that. When, all of a sudden, I look at my rice krispies and see—DUN, DUN, DUN—they’re actually rice krispy treats.

Did you know Kellogg’s does that? They make a rice krispy treat cereal.

Here’s where the convoluted bit about the Little Mermaid comes in. See, me—or my sister (I can’t remember who)—used to call the movie “The Little Mermaid” Ariel. Probably because Cinderella was called Cinderella. And Sleeping Beauty was called Sleeping Beauty. (Although turns out Sleeping Beauty has a real name--Aurora. Weird. Right?) So Ariel should get her name written on the front of a VHS too. It’s only fair.

Point is. In my childhood head, the Little Mermaid was also named Ariel.

In my adult head, Rice Krispies cereal is also named Rice Krispy Treats. And so when the box read, “Rice Krispy Treats,” I said, “Perfect,” and bought all 11 cups and 4 ounces of it.

So now I have marshmallow-ridden Rice Krispies, covered in a peanut-butter, Karo-syrup, white-sugar concoction, topped with chocolate and butterscotch.

Want to come visit me? You can have some.

Fair warning: they don’t look pretty. They look like… well I won’t go into detail. But I will say there are several shades of brown. And they’re... umm... chunky.

Funny. I remember them being pretty and less chunked when my grandma makes them.  

I thought maybe I could salvage my dessert’s aesthetics by drizzling melted butterscotch atop, but then I remembered the Karo syrup, white sugar and marshmallow that is already seething inside. I decided not to add extra butterscotch. 

Side note: I have now created a non-vegetarian dish (marshmallows contain gelatin which contains ground bones or something) to bring to this Thanksgiving function. I might as well have cooked a turkey.

I changed my mind. I want the title of this to be Highly Educational, But Completely Unrelated, And Sometimes Difficult to Follow, Parenthetical Phrases. 

I think that pretty much covers all my main points. Except for the bit about the Karo syrup on my pants. But you figured that much out on your own. Right?

See, what did I tell you? Just like a game of which one is not like the other.

Except not.

Not like that game at all.