Oh foul and cursed confectionery!
Reader, do not be fooled. Imagine if you will candyfloss which has been subjected to the same pressure as carbon when it is diamondized. Now imagine that item without the hardness, shape, transparency, or value. Now imagine it with a different taste.
And there you have the marshmallow.
As a child I suffered the unfortunate experience of having an Aunty Bridie.
She had an obsession with these works of the devil and judged all she met against their liking - or otherwise - for marshmallow. She devised a complex algorithm through which she worked her demonic 'likeability' calculations which can be expressed thus: 
Unfortunately I scored very low on the index, while my brother - one Brendan Derrig - scored very highly indeed.
And even when it was pointed out to the old dear that I had no taste for these ghastly items, she merely said, "Well, then, the Lord be praised, that's more for your handsome older brother, isn't he a delicious little leprechaun what with his cheeky smile and running around like a hellion, bedad and top of the morning. And here's an extra bag for going! Ah, but there I go forgetting you have a terrible fear and mistrust of the pink and white delights. So now you won't be wanting them, but I'm sure young Brendan - Lord bless his plump red cheeks - can find a use for them. Now get out of my will. Sorry, I mean way."
So much for lovely old ladies and their doubly-devilish trickery.
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