Peep Show

You know what I really get a kick out of? Peeps. I have a unholy love for those little marshmallow chicks. Especially the yellow ones. I find them hysterical in a way I can't define. But is has to be the chicks. I'm not too fond of the bunny shapes. And the Christmas trees? An abomination. But I really do love me some classic yellow Peeps.

I'm not a tattoo person, but if I were, there'd be a small Peep somewhere on my body.

I don't like to eat them, really. I mean, I give them the old college try every Easter, but I generally end up snarfing back just one or two and feeding the rest to the dog (or sticking them to him. Try it! It works!). I just happen to be more of a salty snack kind of gal. So it's a good thing that Peeps are available for purchase in small packages (the dog thinks so, too).

Since I like to spend my internet time on sophisticated and weighty matters, I found the Peeps home page and joined the Peeps fan club last week. I did this in order to get unfettered access to exclusive Peeps avatars and e-cards. Because, really, nothing says "I've got important information to impart" quite like images of frolicking marshmallow chickens, right? Right.

While Peeping around, I found that fate does, indeed, work in mysterious ways. There are, apparently, raving masses of people out there who share my Peep fixation. And, surprisingly, some of them have a similar fondness for Spam. Yes, that Spam - the kind that was a Monty Python muse. Even better? There's a Spam museum.

Best of all? That museum happens to be in Austin, Minnesota. I'm going. I have to.

When I look at my schedule, I have the first day of the trip pretty much open. I'll be landing in Minneapolis rather early, getting my rental car, and hitting the road. With my mad Mapquest skillz, I find that I can proceed directly to the museum, spend some time among the cheese of it all, and have plenty of time to get my sunbonnetted ass to the town where I've reserved a hotel for that night. It's a little out of the way, but not much. And, well, it's a Spam museum. how could I resist?

You might ask yourself this: how can our gal reconcile a trip to a Spam museum with her planned prairie pilgrimage? Well, the truth is ... I can't, really. There's no spiffy way that I can tie it in with my mission. It's like apples and oranges. Or Peeps and canned meat.

But it's my destiny. The little marshmallow chicks showed me the way.

Days until trip: 96

Money saved: $425.00