Does “Fun Size” Really Matter?

With Halloween only two days away, both kids and adults with the maturity of kids will go Trick or Treating, costuming as ghosts, zombies, or their favorite presidential candidate, Barack Obama or Mitt Romney.  As twilight darkens into the black of night, the sky peppered with stars and radiating moonlight, costumed kids will stroll the sidewalks, holding their baskets for candy.

Their hands rap at a neighbor’s door.

The door opens.

“Trick or treat!” the kids say.

The neighbor drops three tiny packets of brand-name candy into each kid’s basket.  The kids look at the candies’ wrappers.  They say “Fun Size.”

Looks like the kids are the ones who have been tricked.

When I was a kid, “fun size” candy always confused me.  What is so “fun” about bite-size candy?  All those candy packages that read “Fun Size” should say “Bite Size.”  I’m pretty sure there are some candies out there that say so.  When I went Trick or Treating, I preferred regular sized candy.  Eating so much “fun size” candy left hillocks of wrappers on my living room floor after they had satisfied my appetite for sugar.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines “fun” as “something that provides amusement or enjoyment.”  Cleaning up after oneself provides no “amusement or enjoyment.”  “Fun” is no euphemism for food of a tiny size.

“King size” candy bars should be considered “fun.”  With their massive size, the enjoyment lasts for minutes, unlike a bite-size candy bar that lasts only half of a second.  Calling “king size” candy bars or packages “fun size” instead would eliminate sexism in candy.  If a big candy bar is “king size,” how big would a “queen size” one be?  The situation would be like classifying beds in the sense that “queen size” candies would be one size smaller.  By calling the biggest sized bar or package “fun size,” both sides of the gender stratum would be appeased.

The only “fun size” food I like is tuna and salmon sushi and sashimi (of the few exceptions of my favorite foods, if you have read a previous article of mine).  With sushi and sashimi, the fish has been deboned, filleted, and meticulously sliced into a bite-size rectangular shape.  I do not want my server to arrive at my table carrying a whole raw salmon on a platter, especially if it hasn’t been deboned, filleted, and sliced (and still alive!).
I rarely drink alcohol, but I would imagine that shots are considered “fun size.”  No one can chug a bottle of whiskey, vodka, or tequila.  So I guess taking shots at intervals allows one to become gradually tipsy, as opposed to passing out after 30 seconds.  And of course, no one can finish a complete bottle of hard liquor by himself or herself, so using shot glasses allows everyone to share.

[Author’s note: Please drink responsibly.  If you go out drinking, be sure you go out with friends and one of them is the designated driver.  I’ve been the designated driver in the past and have gotten free Coca-Cola!]

“Fun” should never be a euphemism for smallness.  When a restaurant’s appetizer menu offers a choice, it says “Large Portion” or “Small Portion.”  It does not say “Fun Portion” for the smaller portion.  Eating can be a fun activity.  I like a rib-eye steak 16 ounces, not a “fun” size.  The bites I take of my tender, medium-rare slab of meat are the same size as a “fun size” candy bar.  A “fun size” of ribs is a full rack, not two bones with little meat.

Eating is fun, just as long as it’s not “fun size.”

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