Tomorrow she just gets a bottle of corn syrup.

One afternoon not long ago, in a discount store not far away, Aura may have asked me to buy her the CraZCookn’ Marshmallow Maker, a foul toy that would surely produce foul creations, the likes of which would immediately inspire a Whole Foods employee to start rending his or her fair-trade garments. Fatigued by shopping and weak from a gnawing need for a Diet Coke, I may have said yes. I will admit to nothing, except the following.

Admission #1:

Perhaps the CraZCookn’ marketing gurus were so exhausted by the Herculean task of spelling two common words with three fewer letters that they didn’t have the energy to appropriately audition box models. For if I am not mistaken, the taller girl is muttering something distinctly unChristian between her teeth to the other, dim-looking girl. Something along the lines of “Move over or I will stick this elbow into your still-developing boob, just like my older sister Shannon Doherty taught me. And then my agent will eat your agent, FOR BREAKFAST.”

Admission #2:

If a person were pressed to identify the Marshmallow Maker’s least appealing trait, that person might have to say it’s the 371 parts that need to be washed before use. After all, a mother doesn’t want her developing child to ingest factory chemicals. Except after the 52nd piece falls down the garbage disposal and has to be retrieved by hand. At that point the kid is welcome to all the nitrobenzene she wants. Godspeed, daughter, and happy snacking.

Admission #3:

Well, shoot. If I’d known about the Yellow 5 and/or Blue 1 beforehand, I wouldn’t have even picked up a sponge. Talk about freakin’ gilding the lily.

Admission #4:

Somewhere, some food safety lab is enjoying an early, CraZCookn’-sponsored happy hour. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Gerald,” says one lab worker to another. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t find one actual mineral in that stuff. But then you go ahead and not only do you find calcium, you top yourself with a trace of riboflavin!” The Heineken flows. Or, more precisely, the HeiNekn’.

Admission #5:

The instructions tell you to add water to the marshmallow mix and then “stir to a toothpaste thickness.” I tried my best to gross out Aura as she stirred, making all kind of mentions of vomit and bird poop, but nothing. If the folks at CraZCookn’ have taught me anything, it’s that you can’t disgust a three-year-old. You can, however, make her father retch for five whole minutes, and that’s worth $11.99 right there.

 Admission #6:

I  know. EXACTLY what I was thinking: How can this white stuff possibly turn blue simply by mixing with water?

“Now THAT!” I cried to Aura. “THAT is SCIENCE!” Having already explained both mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster earlier that afternoon, I felt that it was a particularly solid day of science education. Preschool may teach her about rocket ships, but here at home SHE LEARNS THE TRUTH.

Admission #7:

When I looked down at the baggies of white powder scattered across the counter, I couldn’t help but sigh. “In another life,” I murmured, “this might have looked illicit.” I tell you:  A woman goes and has a kid, and it’s like her dreams of being a cocaine dealer just fly right out the window.

Admission #8:

If I had bought Aura the Marshmallow Maker, this would have been the end result. And it might have tasted like puffy bird poop after all.

Thank God for hypotheticals.