If you think that I am about to write a pre-finals entry reflecting on my students' study habits, you would be wrong.
I haven't had a Hostess product since October 1976.
Therefore, you cannot count me among those who are bemoaning its possible shut down, those who are scouring store shelves and internet sites searching for extra boxes of Ho Hos and Twinkies, or those who are penning lyrics to "The Day the Ding Dong Died." I hold no animus though. It's not like I ran out and bought a huge position in Little Debbies six months ago when I noticed that Hostess was not solving the myriad problems that had plagued it into bankruptcy.
Still, everyone else seems to be amped up about the on again, off again closure, so I thought I would tell you a little story and make a suggestion about how Hostess might consider expanding its product line and diversifying to create a more stable brand and higher cash flow.
I had Mrs. Josey for Western Thought as an 11th grader at Alvin High School--no more than a dozen students for that remarkable elective. We did the totally hip thing of circling our desks when we had those heavy philosophical discussions about justice, truth, and beauty (not that it made the discussions livelier, but we totally grooved the idea that we didn't have to sit in ROWS, and we might accidentally get placed in the circle next to someone awesome).
One Friday, I had a prime seat next to a varsity football player. His Friday afternoon "Pep" bag was delivered by a perky cheerleader right near the beginning of class. Remarkably, after scouring through it, he put the peanuts and banana back in the bag and offered the Hostess cupcake around the circle. Since I was sitting right next to him, I claimed it first. Use your imagination here: this was both a Hostess cupcake (the food of the Gods) and a gift from a god.
Mrs. Josey told me to save it for after class. Actually, she said something more like,"Vickie Luquette do NOT EVEN THINK about eating that cupcake in my classroom."
About midway through class, the P.A. system squawked on and Mrs. Josey was summoned to the office. She left, and I seized the opportunity to open the tarty little cupcake sitting on my desktop that had been winking and flexing at me (metaphorically, of course) for almost half an hour. The cellophane crinkled at me seductively as I unwrapped it. Just as I was about to take a bite, the door opened and Mrs. Josey returned, waaaayy before I expected her.
I had no choice but to shove the entire cupcake into my mouth, close my lips over my teeth, and adopt a forced smile.
Do you know what happens when you hold a Hostess cupcake in your mouth for the final eighteen minutes of class? The first thing is there is no room to maneuver the big wad of sugar and transfats around into a better position so you might have a chance to swallow it. More importantly, even if you did have room, it wouldn't move, because the icing sticks to the roof of your mouth INFINITELY MORE FIRMLY THAN POLIGRIP.
I'm thinking that if Hostess had recognized the adhesive quality to its icing, it could have launched a variety of new product lines over the last thirty or forty years, and its cash flow nightmare would have never emerged. . . despite me never buying or eating a Hostess product again the rest of my life.