Little Debbie
You know what… this is a fucking insult. I was raised on these creamy oatmealy cinnamony delights – and THIS is how you repay me?
Growing up in The South (AKA THUH SOWWWTH,) Little Debbies were ubiquitous.
Any home worth calling itself such would have a basket of these for visitors and family alike.
My grandfather (PawPaw) put lifts in his boots at the age of 17 so he could join The Screaming Eagles and fight Hitler because he was just a sonofabitch who needed to have a fat lip.
Anyway – he married Annie Lee. A tall redhead with a beehive and a penchant for Salem Light 100’s and Maxwell House with a fistful of sugar and an unhealthy dose of Coffee-Mate.
After the war and after they were hitched, he afforded Annie (Big Lady as he called her, MawMaw as we called her) a very comfortable and… interesting… lifestyle. See, he ran a couple of truck stops in the Columbia ,South Carolina area. As such – and possibly as a result of PawPaw’s affiliation with snackfood distributors, there were ALWAYS Little Debbies around.
We’re talking bottomless Swiss Cake Rolls, Nutty Bars (now called Nutty Buddies, but that’s a different story) and… Oatmeal Creme Pies. Always.
They taste today like they tasted then. Absolutely nothing has changed.
They taste not only of my childhood, but of the American Dream.
Sweet. Creamy. A little funky with a dash of cinnamon.
When this pint was purchased for $2.50 in the most American of American institutions – WALMART – I thought to myself…
“This is what it’s all been about. Your life has led to this moment. Grab a spoon. Sit back.”
It had been a great night. Thursdays are date night in the Gaffney household. We’ve been married for 30 years. You have to keep the spark alive. We went to get gyros. The wife had chicken, while I chose lamb. It was good. We hit a few Goodwills and picked up some interesting antique oddities, including this gorgeous check printer…
We had to pick up a few items from Walmart, and we were needing a desert. I mean – what date night doesn’t end with desert?
(and sex, but… I probably shouldn’t talk about that. We’re old and that’s just sort of uncomfortable for anyone besides the 2 of us to think about.)
Anyway – we looked at the ice creams. The Wife picked out a Ben & Jerry’s flavor. The Tonight Dough.
When it was my turn to pick, I went with my heart. My sentiment.
In retrospect, this may have been a bad choice – as my heart is black and my sentiment is completely misguided when it comes to my childhood, but…
This stuff was like a kick straight to the grapes.
Vanilla ice cream with chunks of things that we more chewy than soft and cookie-like. Didn’t even taste like Oatmeal Creme Pies.
I feel robbed. Not only am I out $2.50 ($2.68 with tax,) but my childhood has been insulted.
And do NOT come at me with some Mandela effect bullshit. I know what I ate. I know what my mom ate. I know what my grandmother ate.
AND THIS AIN’T IT.
Now – a List of Shit I Could Have Bought Instead of Shelling Out $2.50 to be insulted…
- 4 Packs of Shitty Ramen
- 1 Pack of Good Ramen (Chapagetti)
- 3 12 Ounce Cans of Coke from the vending machine outside Walmart
- 2 cans of tuna
- 3 cans of Vienna sausages
- A few rubbers from truck stop vending machines
Bottom Line…
Pass. Easy pass.
That said, I can’t wait to try the Nutty Bar ice cream. AND I’M NOT FUCKING CALLING IT A NUTTY BUDDY.
Stay tuned for the next blog post where I get to the bottom of why they’re called both Nutty Bars (the correct way) and Nutty Buddys. Oh – and join my email list. Thanks.
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