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The Authentic Eclectic
The Day My Dad Was Hit By a Little Debbie Truck
When winning the cake lottery doesn’t pan out how you think
One fateful day when I was around 10 or 11 years old I came home from school and opened the refrigerator, and there before me was something I never imagined I would see in my life.
Our refrigerator, usually reserved for boring (to a kid) stuff like fruit, vegetables, fish, and meat, was stacked high with every variety of Little Debbie Cake known to man. I felt like I was dreaming.
If you are not from the south, you might not be acquainted with Little Debbie. She is like Hostess’s sassy, backcountry cousin, with a vast array of delicious cakes that would spike your blood sugar faster than you can say “Nutty Buddy”.
The driver of a Little Debbie truck had dented my Dad’s work truck, and rather than exchange insurance information like normal people, he had done a deal with my Dad that he could have a metric ton of sugary goodness instead.
I don’t know what my Dad was thinking. He probably could have sued Little Debbie, who knows.
I remember how excited I was, it was that Christmas morning/Easter kinda feeling of surprise. My Dad was partial to a pecan twirl, while I liked the oatmeal cookie cream pies because I’m a weirdo.
I could tell that my Mom was not happy about any of this right away. Kind of like when my Dad brought home a puppy unannounced (also a kitten and a turtle at different times).
I don’t remember how long the cakes were there. Long enough for me to try several and get a bit sick of them, like when we had Girl Scout cookies or candy bars for school fundraising in the house. More often than not my Dad would eat a lot of that stuff and end up having to pay enough that I didn’t really need to sell much, which was fine by me.
The Little Debbie cakes were there a few days, and the world was full of cake, and it was good. And then I came home one day and they were all gone. Dozens and dozens of individually…
