A few days ago I went to the mall.
I should have said that as “I went to the mall for the third time this week” because if we’re being honest, I go to the mall more frequently than I should for someone who has neither has money or works at or around the mall.
This time, I was on a mission for sparkly lotion and that’s about it, but I left with said sparkly lotion, new shorts, two new bras, a body mist, and a bunch of clearance stuff from Sur La Table.
Funny how things work out like that. I swear I only wanted one thing…
Anyway, the mall by my house is truly gorge. It’s big, bright, spacious and designed really modern and sleek. I love it and have nothing but glowing things to say about it. But the one thing I despise? Those kiosk people. They are truly the bottom-feeding salespeople of the retail world.
Now hear me out: I sound like I speak definitively, but I’m only saying most of them are like that. Some are cool–you tell them “no thanks” and they’ll give up. Sadly, they’ll probably lose their jobs within five seconds, but hey, at least they’ll realize they don’t have shark blood in them and find something better.
However, I’m convinced to work at one of those skin care kiosks that sell body mud or the station with electronic cigarettes or the one with the hair straighteners, you must be part-shark, part-European. Shark because they literally stalk their prey as you walk by, honing in on all your vulnerabilities before you even realize they’ve sought you out in the crowd. And because even after you brush them off and their miracle $25 flat-iron, they’re still jabbering at you long after you’ve disappeared into a crowd of strollers and mall walkers.
And part European because, uh, have you ever listened to them? I mean really listened. They all have some Madonna-esque, hella fake “European” accent.
I mean, I have to wear shirts to work that say our company name on them… but I can’t imagine being hired somewhere and my manager telling me one of my job requirements was to fake some awful accent. As if that makes buying some cheap clay mask any more pleasurable or something.
The kiosks are only on the bottom floor of the mall, so usually, I’ll use the top floor as my highway to get to my destinations and avoid the bottom center strip as much as possible. But I was there in the early morning, and I figured that most sharks have to sleep even if they have those weird double eyelids so maybe I could get out of there unscathed.
NOT. THE. CASE.
Apparently, these bitches were out for blood because they smelled my money a mile away. I briskly walked as close to the store fronts as possible, trying desperately to avoid being in their line of sight. But like, they totally walk up to you and reach out to touch you and follow you so unless you can invent some invisibility cloak or something, you’re stuck dealing with some faux-European chick with tawdry extensions trying to sell you a flat-iron when your hair is so obviously pin-straight.
And they would not let up.
The dozen yards I had to walk to get to a clearing seemed like forever since I was attacked by gold-buyers, E-cigarette smokers, body jewelry gypsies and the like.
Most of my jewelry comes from Forever 21 and judging by the fact that I spent no less than $10 on it, I doubt it’s real gold. Second, I don’t smoke so having an E-cigarette sounds about as useful as having a brain tumor, and third, I don’t even have piercings in my body and am not about to pierce my belly button any time soon because frankly, belly button rings FREAK ME OUT and I’m so petrified when I see girls with their rings dangling by the waistlines of their jeans. What if it gets stuck? What if it RIPS?! OMG.
Anyway, I finally escaped and after a little shell-shock from the initial, brutal attacks I was restored to normal mental well-being and safety and found myself buying more stuff at other stores, clearly unaffected by my kiosk assault earlier.
It’s amazing how much shopping can repair one’s mood.
Or, you know, Peanut Butter S’mores Bars.
Now normally I’m not a huge fan of s’mores… there’s usually too much chocolate for my taste (ugh, I know I’m despicable) but something about adding peanut butter instantly made s’mores my new super fave. I mean, sweet, salty, gooey, melty, crunchy… what’s not to love about that flavor/texture combo from heaven?!
You should totes make some.
1 box yellow cake mix
1/2 cup oil
1 cup crunchy peanut butter
About 8 Reese’s PB cups, roughly chopped
1 small bag miniature marshmallows
2 squares melting chocolate
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line a 13×9 inch baking pan with foil, extending the sides over the edge of the pan. Lightly grease the foil and set the pan aside.
2. In a large bowl, combine the cake mix, eggs, and oil and stir until a soft yet stiff dough forms. Stir in the peanut butter with a rubber spatula until blended.
3. Spread he batter evenly into the bottom of the prepared pan and bake for approx. 12 minutes or until just about set. Sprinkle the top of the crust with the chopped candy, then with the marshmallows and return the pan to the oven to finish baking, about 3-4 more minutes or until the marshmallows are lightly browned and toasty.
4. Cool the bars completely before melting the chocolate and drizzling it on top of the marshmallows. Allow the chocolate to set, then carefully lift the foil out of the pan, cut into squares, and serve. Store leftovers airtight for about 3 days.
For having a semi-love/hate relationship with marshmallows (I know, I know!!) I loved the crunchy toastiness of their tops once they’ve been browned a bit in the oven. So good with the creamy, melty peanut butteriness of the candy and crust.
I hope you love ’em!! Happy Thursday!