Yeah, I thought so.
I wish I could tell you that I think marshmallows are gross and that I can't stand eating all of the puffy sugar. Nope. I love 'em. I would probably finish the bag of them before Z could get her hands on them if I hadn't recently turned 30 and started practicing being an adult and showing a little restraint.
Incidentally, it takes approximately NO pleading from Z at the grocery store to get me to buy a bag:
Z: Whoa. Those marshmallows are really big mommy!
Me: Oh, okay fine. We can get them.
Me: Do you want the giant ones or the heart shaped one?
Me: Or both?
And then one day Z was trying to fall asleep waaaay later than is acceptable for her to fall asleep if bedtime isn't going to be the worst so I tried to keep her awake by offering her a marshmallow! What kind of mom does that? A desperate one who knows the power of a big freakin' mallow that's who. It didn't matter anyway. She just ate it with her eyes closed and went back to sleep. A feat I decided was a possibly useful talent.
On a related note: Z-cakes has recently started saying "dude" much to her parent's approval. She demonstrates excellent inflection and consistently appropriate use. For example:
Z-cakes: Dude, mom! Look at those marshmallows!
Me: Dude, Z. They're peppermint!
Z-cakes: Dude. We should buy those.