sneaking over to the cupboard at least a few times a day while supplies lasted. There, I would carefully open first the door, then the perforated box lid, and stare reverently at the Twinkies for a few seconds before darting my little hand into the box, snatching a Twinkie (gently, so as not to damage its fragile contents), and retreating again immediately, with lightening speed and a furtive glance around to be sure no one had seen me. When I was safely away from the crime scene, I'd pull open the plastic wrapping and then take my time savoring all that sugary, soft, artificially flavored goodness.
aaaaI write this as a sort of prelude to what happened many years later, when as an adult, and knowing my predilection, I swore off all Hostess products in my pursuit of greater health and fitness. It may sound extreme, but complete abstinence was the only way to keep myself safe from their invidious charms, their alluring come-hither looks, their empty calories masquerading as a harmless, wholesome snack.
aaaaIt was just over a year ago when my iron will momentarily cracked, and let in the smallest whisper of a Twinkie Temptation. I was out running some errands on a warm Spring day, driving with the sunroof open and the radio on, flitting from store to store and checking things off my "To Do" list with carefree oblivion of the danger that awaited me at my next stop. I stepped into a K-Mart-like store and immediately my attention was drawn to the shelf of Twinkies in front of the register closest to the door. They came three to a pack, instead of the usual two, with big letters on the packaging proclaiming the "One Twinkie Free!" promotion. I quickly averted my gaze and hurried past, giving myself my standard pep-talk about the dangers of entertaining ideas of even considering purchasing such an item.
aaaaUnfortunately, my pep talk was either too feeble or too late. The seed had been planted. I thought about the Twinkies as I meandered through the store, finding the sundry items on my list, and again as I approached the check-out, and the thoughts didn't stop as I waited in line. Finally, it was my turn to place my items on the conveyor belt. I emptied my small basket, set it down on the ground, and then, in a throw-back to my childhood, I snatched a three-pack off the shelf and guiltily set it down next to my items, trying to act nonchalant and hoping no one would realize that I was buying Junk Food.
aaaaI opened the package as soon as I got into the car, devouring one Twinkie before I'd even left the parking lot. It was just as I'd remembered it--pure, melting, sweet and gooey, the juxtaposition of textures from cake and filling creating a burst of joy against my palate. In short: bliss. I ate the second Twinkie as I drove, pausing only a few moments in between the first and second to allow for the perfunctory "You've satiated your weak side, now throw the rest out the window" pep-talk. When I got home, I turned off the car's engine and then gazed down at the remaining Twinkie in the package on the seat next to me. Feeling both wonderfully satiated and extremely ashamed, I ignored the voice in my head telling me that I would regret this later, and put out my hand to retrieve the last Twinkie. I knew I shouldn't--two was bad enough, after all. Have some self-control, woman!--but I began to eat it nonetheless. As a final, desperate measure, my brain somehow convinced my free hand--the one that wasn't holding the Twinkie to my lips--to turn the package over and look at the Nutritional Information on the back.
aaaaOh my. I was devastated. I knew they were bad for me, but did they have to be that bad for me? Why oh why is the world so cruel?! Why oh why was I so weak?! The handy table printed on the back label told me that I had just consumed nearly 800 calories. In fact, all three Twinkies together provided more than 800 calories. I shuddered to think how many laps and crunches I'd have to do to compensate for my lapse in judgment. With a defeated and sorrowful sigh, I pulled the half-eaten third Twinkie from my mouth (I'd read the horrible news mid-bite), chewed and swallowed what was already there, and went inside. I set down my bags of purchases, threw the Twinkie remnants into the trash. Then I changed clothes and went directly to the gym. Regret is a bitter cup indeed.
aaaaI haven't eaten or even been tempted by a Twinkie since that dark day, and I intend for my recovery to continue until I'm very old and Twinkies are one of the few pleasures I have left. In the meantime, I'm still working on overcoming the irresistible magnetism of Girl Scout Cookies.