Twinkie Temptation

Many of my long-time fans will remember this article I wrote for 31 Magazine a couple of years ago about my love of Twinkies and the sorry scene that resulted when I impulsively indulged in that attraction one fateful afternoon.

Since then, my 12-step recovery process has gotten me through countless potentially disastrous episodes at the check-out counter and 7-Eleven, enabling me to deafen my ears to the Twinkies' ubiquitous siren song. My steel-plated, reinforced concrete, titanium alloy will was nearly crushed last week, however, when I stumbled upon the newest incarnation of Pure Evil in a little bite-sized package: Hostess 100 Calorie Packs of Twinkies.

(Why does Pure Evil so often come in little bite-sized packages? It's downright disturbing!)

There I was, briskly walking to the grocery check-out counter with my sensible, health conscious purchases, when I heard the whisper of yellow sponge cake and was stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of the box pictured above, boldly displayed on a stand-alone tower in the middle of the aisle. I was lured by the friendly pep of the cowboy Twinkie mascot waving me over, by the full-color, highly texturized drawing of a mini-Twinkie bite, gushing artificial white sweetness. Only 100 calories, the box proclaimed. Was this indeed a guilt-free way to satiate my Twinkie love, so long repressed? Or would it instead unleash a Pandora's box of bingeing, self-immolation, and grief?

My hand trembled. My mouth watered. The sounds of cash registers faded to silence. Oh fickle taste buds! Oh imperfect will-power! How could I resist this too-good-to-be-true marketing genius in such an economy?

I did not cave in. After a moment of longing, I came to my senses, firmly told myself "NO," and removed myself from the temptation. A close call, to be sure, but victory was indeed mine.

(Dear Twinkie Cowboy, I'm still thinking about you. Perhaps someday we can be together. Love, M)