Fun Size.

Whew! What a busy couple of days. Deadlines, late shifts, meetings, appointments – there’s barely been a moment to sit down and breathe. What’s worse, this recent flurry of activity has been near enough pudding-free. In order to keep myself going, I’ve been forced to snack on all things portable: bags of crisps, flasks of soup and anything else I can fit in my backpack without fear of a spillage. Yesterday, the nearest I got to dessert was a foetal-sized carton of Sun Maid raisins, followed by a Fun Size packet of Maltesers.

Now there’s a misnomer if ever I heard one; my Fun Size bag can’t have had more than ten chocolate balls inside it and was pretty much more air than chocolate. I’ve seen those Fun Size Snickers bars too: barely enough room in there for a peanut. What’s so fun about that?

If you ask me, the people at Mars have got it all wrong: Fun Size ought be a bag as big as a clown. A huge great fat clown, with a hat as tall as the ceiling. Imagine all the fun you could have with that: juggling matches; competitions to see how many can fit in your mouth; miniature chocolate ball-pits; a casino in which all the chips were exchanged for Maltesers.

As it stands, ten Maltesers is barely enough to do anything with. I could have finished the lot in one go if I’d wanted, but instead I tried to make the experience last, attempting to eat them in all the various ways. I tried sucking, crunching, sucking and crunching, scraping off the chocolate with my teeth, licking off the chocolate with my tongue, letting a couple dissolve in the pouch of my cheeks. I have to admit, it was almost fun – until I promptly ran out.

Fun Size indeed… Pah! Barely-Enough-For-One Size is more like it. I should report those guys to Trading Standards. If only I wasn’t so gosh darn busy.


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