As my stomach growled in the thick darkness of rural Iowa, I contemplated the treat. What the hell, I thought. Just a bite. Still in the dark, I unwrapped the Rice Krispie treat. Each crinkle of the wrapper sounded like thunder. There is NO sound in the house in rural Iowa. No traffic, no neighbors, no helicopters overhead, no sirens, no gunshots, no dogs barking outside, no car alarms, no cats running around, no fans, no icemaker, no dehumidifier, no house settling noises. Nothing. Except silence that fills my ears until I can hear my own blood pumping through my veins.
I was certain the screaming of the cellophane wrapper would bring my stepdad lumbering into the guest room wanting to know why I was eating in bed.
Despite the raging wrapper, I managed to open the treat. I originally planned to just nibble off a corner and then put the half-wrapped treat back on the bedside. But after that first bite, I couldn't stop. Maybe I really was hungry? Maybe it was because I haven't had a Rice Krispie treat in years? Whatever the reason, that treat was the most delicious thing I had tasted in 48 hours. Somewhere between bites two and three, I thought, Do they have a pest problem? Maybe mice or something? I probably shouldn't leave a half-eaten Rice Krispie treat out. It didn't really matter as there was no turning back now.
Going entirely by my sense of touch in the pitch black, I laid flat in bed and slowly peeled back the wrapper with increasingly sticky fingers and took bite after bite of the crunchy, marshmallowy goodness.
And that is how I ate an entire Rice Krispie treat in bed in Iowa in the dark.
(Delicious picture provided by QuarryGirl.com)