Poor Twinkie

Twinkie, my high school friend.  My dear, yellow-fluffy delight.  I pined for your creamy middle and your carbalicious sugary-ness.  As often as I could, I begged the cute boy to take me to the convenience store where I would buy a single cello-wrapped confection with my meager sofa-cushion-scrounged coins.  Driving in his old gray truck, I enjoyed every crumb and daintily licked my fingers.

I grew and moved on, but did not outgrow my love for you, Twinkie.  My husband loved your chocolatey brother.  In my youth I was also tempted to call my brothers ding dongs, but you had the fortitude to do so and be celebrated for it.  My dad called flighty girls by your more popular name.  You were part of my upbringing, my culture.  I was saddened to learn of your family's misfortune.

I need to go to the store and buy some Hostess to sadly introduce to my little children as we mourn.  Happy trails, Twinkie.  I will miss you.