Clearly, I had some lost time to make up for. I worked Mr. Sticky's into my adventure, schedule and stopped by the Lancaster location shortly after lunch on an early August Thursday.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect and was pleasantly surprised to find this cute little building tucked into a shared parking lot with a few picnic tables outside. Even better, there wasn’t anyone in line when I walked up to the window, so there was absolutely nothing standing between me and my impending sugar rush.

The menu was shockingly simple and I mean that as a compliment. In a world where I sometimes need 20 minutes and a flow chart to order dessert, Mr. Sticky’s basically says, “Here’s the good stuff. Pick one.”

Cinnamon rolls. Regular Sticky’s. Walnut Sticky’s. Iced cinnamon rolls. Regular icing. And… PEANUT BUTTER ICING. Well, hello there!

Being myself made of approximately 63.8% peanut butter, there was no way I was leaving without investigating that situation. But I also wanted to try one of their classic Sticky’s, so I decided to see if I could break the universe and order a regular sticky with peanut butter icing.

Success! Even better, the peanut butter icing came in a little container on the side, allowing me complete control over exactly how ridiculous I wanted this experience to become.

I collected my box and headed for one of the picnic tables in the shade. It was approximately 95° outside, so I was grateful for every square inch of shade available.

Then I opened the box. The sticky was huge! It was beautifully golden, covered in glistening glaze and smelled absolutely incredible.

I was already thrilled, but there was still one very important test standing between Mr. Sticky’s and greatness. The peanut butter icing.

Listen, I’m particular about peanut butter icing. If you’re going to invoke the sacred name of peanut butter I need you to COMMIT. I don’t want something light, airy, and vaguely peanut butter adjacent. I want thick. I want rich. I want peanut butter icing that looks me directly in the eyes and says, “Yeah, I’m peanut butter. What about it?”

It was time to find out if Mr. Sticky’s was going to become my future husband. I took one little fork full of the icing by itself. And audibly squealed.

Cold. Thick. Rich. Punch-you-in-the-face peanut butter. Oh yes. Mr. Sticky’s understood the assignment!

I knew there was absolutely no chance I was going to finish this enormous sticky in one sitting, so instead of dumping the icing all over it, I went bite by bite. A little sticky. A little peanut butter icing. Repeat until happiness occurs.

And happiness absolutely occurred! The sticky itself was soft, sweet and generously glazed, and adding that ridiculously rich peanut butter icing pushed the entire thing straight over the edge.

Was it incredibly sweet? Yes. Was that a problem? Have we met?!

I’m still not sure how I grew up in Central Pennsylvania without Mr. Sticky’s entering my life sooner, but I’m glad somebody finally corrected this terrible oversight.

My only complaint is that the closest location is nearly an hour from my house because I can already imagine these becoming a holiday breakfast tradition.

Thanksgiving morning with Mr. Sticky’s? Christmas morning with Mr. Sticky’s?! Come on. Holiday made!

So, I’m passing along the same advice my friend gave me. If your adventures take you anywhere near Mr. Sticky’s, don’t just consider stopping. Make it a destination.

Get the sticky. Get the peanut butter icing. And, maybe don’t make any legally binding, matrimonial decisions until the sugar rush wears off.