 by Dr. Jeffrey Lant. Author's program note. It's my fault... I loved Twinkies once upon a time. Yes, when I was young and innocent, so long ago I can hardly imagine, Twinkies and I were an item, a couple, just the two of us, no need for anyone else. We had everything we needed in one neat little package. I was complete, satisfied, blissful. However the road of love is a rocky road. My mother disapproved of you, Twink... and there was that fateful day she found you in my Howdy Doody lunch box, dumped you unceremoniously on the ground and crushed you beneath her adamant shoe. I wanted to rescue you, hold you, bring you to my ardent lips and tell you how much I still cared... but the woman was obstinate, stubborn, determined to have her way, as I have long since discovered women can be. Something changed in our perfect relationship that day... I loved you... but she was the one who must be obeyed... But there's something else, something I must tell you now; something that's been on my conscience for over 50 years. I was unfaithful to you, Twink. There was the delectable affair I had with... and the delicious one with... and of course that wild and crazy thing, that fabulous fling in chocolate with... but why humiliate myself further? I loved you in my way; gave myself to you; you were always there for me... and I cheated. You would have forgiven me, I know... you always forgave me... but I couldn't forgive myself. And so guilt entered and tainted our perfect relationship. When we met in ways secret and clandestine I felt ashamed about the lies and deceptions... and I couldn't, just couldn't, meet you in the open, anywhere. What would have happened if she had found out causes me to quake and tremble to this very day. I was a lover, not a fighter. Besides, Twink, and I must be severely honest and candid here, as we said we'd always be with each other; by then your pristine reputation was tainted. People were saying terrible things about you, awful, horrid, things I couldn't bear. And it hurt, Twink, and made me doubt you and whether our love was pure and healthy, not stale with a passed shelf life. Detectives, gum shoes, sleuths. With so much negativity, with so many doubts now circulating, I was frantic. I loved you, despite my infidelities, how I loved you. But how could I not doubt you with so much said against you? It was driving me crazy... and so I went undercover with the hope that nothing I was hearing, nothing that was eating at me was true... and profoundly fearful that it was. My work was long, arduous, exhaustive. This is what my agile search assistants and I discovered... The truth, the whole truth. First of all, you were a lot older than you let me believe. You came from Schiller Park, Illinois, not so far from where we met, in Downers Grove. You were born in 1930 and given your peppy name by James Alexander Dewar, a baker for the Continental Baking Company. He named you after "Twinkle Toe Shoes". I wanted to believe your age didn't matter, but it did. You treated me like Norma Desmond did her boy toys; like Blanche DuBois treated hers. You said you'd last forever; love me forever; feed and comfort me forever. You were a panther like Circe, Morgan le Fay, Omphale combined ... ageless you said, cleverer than me, that was certain, for you had never said more than necessary, whilst never disclosing a single extra word or fact. Bravissisma! These reports, so detailed, made it clear that you were always the "hostess with the mostest," a crowd pleaser, making millions smile from your protected formula of wheat flour, sugar, corn syrup, niacin, water, high fructose corn syrup, vegetable and/or animal shortening, and... partially hydrogenated soybean, cottonseed and canola oil, and beef fat, dextrose, whole eggs, cellulose gum, whey, leavenings (sodium acid pyrophosphate, baking soda, monocalcium phosphate), salt, corn flour, solids, mono diglycerides, soy lecithin, polysorbate 60, dextrin, calcium caseinate, sodium stearoyl lactylate, wheat gluten, calcium sulphate, natural and artificial flavors, caramel color, yellow No. 5, red No. 40, and... one or two secret ingredients even my highly capable spies could not discern, plus la piece de resistance, vanilla cream filling, literally la creme de la creme. But you liked being unpredictable, experimenting with other cream flavors, particularly banana. I always thought we had chemistry, Twink... but it was you. More that I learned about the Twink of my life. I was obsessed with you, Twink. And the fact that she kept me from you, only made me want you more. I had to know about you; everything about you. Nothing was too small or insignificant. Like I said, I had to learn everything... and so much truly shocked me. Like this... just one Twinkie, a single one, contains 2.5 grams of saturated fat, representing 13% of the recommended daily intake of saturated fat based on a 2,000 calorie diet. It is 42% sugar, 21% complex carbohydrates and 11% fat by weight. No wonder every time I nibbled on your delectable ear I felt like flying. And I thought it was love... Rumors, misinformation, lies, humbug, distortions... oh, Twink!!! I am at the tail end of the last generation to believe a lady only appears in the newspapers 3 times... when she is born, when she marries, and when she dies. But Twink I found page after page of the most lurid information about you... About how cute young gay boys, boys noted for living on the edge, are called Twinks... after you,Twink, you. And how good people worldwide have been duped into believing that you are infinite, immortal, as eternal as the Eternal City itself; that you don't age, can be eaten with confidence and joy dozens, even hundreds of years after creation; the common and widespread belief that Twinkies are forever, a belief put to the test by the 1988 film, "Die Hard", where John McClane gets sick after eating a "thousand year old Twinkie" found in an under-construction floor of the Nakatomi Plaza building. Twink, my once honored and profoundly cherished, revered partner, where were you when these hideous charges, falsehoods, these deceits, deceptions and lies were disseminated? Have you no shame, no desire to stand tall as a truth teller. Is filthy lucre your only objective? Where did you go so very wrong? When did your very name conjure the shameful and disreputable... as in... The Twinkie Defense. The expression derives from the 1979 trial of Dan White, a former San Francisco, California police officer, fire fighter and city district Supervisor. On November 27, 1978, White assassinated Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk. A significant element raised by the defense was White's consumption before the incident of junk food and sugar- laden soft drinks. So low had your reputation sunk by then,Twink, that when this was dubbed "The Twinkie Defense", the name stuck and your stock fell further still. Many people, former advocates for Twinkies now believed you could and should be held responsible for most any social problem or outrage. Sales, of course, took a beating... I was one of the disenchanted who left, walking out on you, loving elsewhere. Crisis at Hostess Brands. Thus matters rested for a long chain of years. Though I had loved you once with fervid adolescent passion, I loved you no longer and scarcely ever thought of you and your sorcery and taste. Then just the other day, I heard that Hostess Brands, your home, was in bankruptcy, its assets including you to be sold to the highest bidder. Every kind of "reason" was advanced for this sad state of affairs, changing taste, a more heath conscious society and consumer, greedy employees whose recent strike crippled the company, clueless but egregiously overpaid executives. Perhaps. Now, Twink, I give you my explanation, and it's simply this: you didn't love me as deeply and profoundly as I loved you... and so you broke my heart. But, Twink, here's the punch line: I miss you; have missed you for years and want you back. Wherever you end up, Twink, I'll be the first in line. In the meantime, let me sing this tune for you: "Lover, Come Back to Me", music written by Sigmund Romberg with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II for the 1928 Broadway show "The New Moon". I like the versions by Billie Holiday and Barbra Streisand you can find in any search engine. "The moon was new/ And so was love/ This eager heart of mine was singing/ Lover where can you be/ You came at last/ Love had its day/ That day is past/ You've gone away/ This aching heart of mine is singing/ Lover come back to me Forgive me, Twink! Come into my home and heart again! Don't leave me when I love you so! |
