My Memories of Fluff

Some unknown power caused me to buy Fluff last week at the grocery store.  I had it in my head to make a new dessert recipe for Thanksgiving, and the one I chose required Fluff.  This is where I diverged from common sense.
For those of you who have never tried Fluff, or even seen it, you might want to take a peek at it the next time you're in the peanut butter aisle at the grocery store.  It's basically marshmallows and sugar congealed into this spreadable consistency.  It's something that I remember being in my house growing up, but I don't recall anyone except my little sister eating it (in what's referred to cutely as a "fluffer-nutter" sandwich: peanut butter and Fluff).  Sometime around high school the jar stopped appearing in our pantry.  (Note: this could have been the result of the cross-country move where no store in Colorado stocks Fluff, it could have been that the taste buds matured, or it could have been because my parents finally decided to stop buying the junk.)
Fast forward twenty years, and I find myself at the grocery store last week with Norah buying a 16 ounce tub of Fluff.  I head home, break open the seal, and prepare Norah and Toby for the "joy" of fluffer-nutters for lunch.  Toby, game for any combination involving peanut butter, ate one bite and said "No thank you."  Now, I'm not kidding here, this kid actually ate a peanut butter and pepperoni sandwich one time.  And he said no to the combo.  That speaks volumes.  Norah watched Toby eat his bite, get his mouth unstuck long enough to decline any other bites, and then wouldn't even touch her plate for the rest of the meal.  I promptly made the kids alternate sandwiches, and we settled our experiences with Fluff for the next decade (or until they have kids and decide to expose them to the delights of marshmallow fluff smeared on bread).
Needless to say, the recipe was not a hit and would not become a repeat guest at future Thanksgivings.  Now I've got an almost-full jar of Fluff sitting in my pantry that I can't even send off to a soup kitchen.  I've noticed two things about the stuff (which I am going to throw away after I publish this post, despite my guilt over wastefulness--all $1.69 of it).  First, I used about 1/2 of a cup of the stuff in the recipe, but I think it expands once you open the tub; it doesn't look like I've used any of it.  And second, I'm almost positive that the stuff that walks off John Cusack's plate in the 80's movie Better off Dead was made of green Fluff.  This stuff has a life of its own.