Embarrassment descended upon the Huff family of five. And peanut butter was the culprit. Exhausted by healthy foods, they craved the addictive paste. A slug of United States-minted gold bars couldn’t stop them. No, siree. Overcome by the goober spread, their lives changed—nothing else mattered; Papa Huff quit his bank job, and Mama Huff quit the PTA. Their stubborn demeanor prevailed; it was nuts.

Weeks passed as they gorged, and the twin sisters ballooned. A thumbnail amount did not suffice. No, siree. A crock for each person. Then, OMG, it’s gone. The aisle of the Humpty Dumpty grocery store beckoned, and they heeded the call, piling into their Desoto station wagon the father called Dan.

Success. A plastic bag full of PB jars, awaiting their demise, lay in the back seat. The conversation became animated, occasional whoops and arms reaching toward the treasure as they rattled in the sack. Images of spoonfuls of delicious goo danced in their heads. As Dan sped home, the traffic seemed to part like the Red Sea.

The young man in the car stretched his 14-year-old legs and gazed out the window. Yeah, life is just about perfect. Inspired by the family obsession, the teen thought about his future. Maybe I could be Nathan’s hot dog-eating champion? An excellent way to impress the girls. Yeah, that’s the dream. Yes, siree.

Papa slammed on the brakes, skidded to a halt. The Huffs rolled out of the car and waddled through the kitchen door. The room drew quiet. Mama slammed the five containers on the kitchen table and, per the ritual, laid personalized spoons by each. “Begin,” Papa said.

The matriarch smiled at her brood. She mused that it pleased her to watch them eat more and more, devour the stickiness like no one else in the neighborhood. Two minutes. All gone. Papa lowered his spoon and belched, a defining signal to the family. They nodded their heads towards each other, knowing this foodstuff was history.

Smiling at each other, they raised their empty jars and threw them into the fireplace. The family looked for guidance from Papa, who contemplated the ceiling. “Truffles,” he said. His chest expanded like a proud peacock, like a responsible father looking out for his family’s wellbeing. Overwhelmed, they roared, “Ha! Give us chocolates; we must have chocolates.”

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