by Deanna K. Kreisel (Doctor Waffle Blog)
The first time I came across the “candy bar interiors” quiz, I was not disturbed by how many I got wrong, but rather how many I got right. While a few of the pictured confections were alien to me (Zagnut? who the hell eats a Zagnut? did Charlie Chaplin enjoy one in Modern Times?), I was intimately familiar with enough of the images that I could extrapolate the rest.
I just picked the weirdest and creepiest looking option as the Zagnut. I was correct.
I have been unhealthily obsessed with candy bars for as long as I can remember. My obsession is deep, tender, and gently festering, and I feel ambivalent about stirring up the dead leaves at the bottom of that pool. Even though I have written essays about my consistently abusive mother, my intermittently abusive father, my history of panic disorder, and many other delicate topics, an exploration of my feelings about candy bars feels like the most difficult thing I have ever attempted.
The outside layer of a Zagnut is coconut. Who does that?
My parents were largely uninterested in their children, but every once in a while they made a symbolic stab at parenting by doing something like restricting our food choices or giving us a curfew. They forbade sugary breakfast cereals, soda, candy, and chips of any kind—thus setting us up for an enduring obsession with junk food that I carry with me to this day. Even though I am now in my 50s and wholly in charge of my own snack choices, my stomach still flips over a little at the sight of a potato chip bag or a Chip Ahoy. So salty! So mouthfeely! So naughty. Read more »