Like so many other parents of high school seniors, we're in a holding pattern right now. My daughter has been accepted at three of the four schools to which she applied. We're still waiting to hear from number four, but since that fine institution wasn't her top choice, it's a moot point. Although she seems to be honing in on a decision (and a campus visit several weeks ago knocked one contender out completely), she has been thoughtful and patient about it.
Or else she's procrastinating. A more than likely possibility. After all, she's eighteen.
Meanwhile, her father and I (well, mainly I) have been doing a lot of math. For the next four years, not just her higher education expenses, but things like new cars and vacations, are up in the air. Mathematically speaking.
How much will we owe? That's the two hundred thousand dollar question.
Each of the three colleges that have accepted her have offered my daughter handsome merit scholarships.
Me: See, honey? All that hard work paid off.
Her: (eye roll)
But, each school presents a unique and complicated equation. For example, one school has a discount for students from our state majoring in her concentration. Nice, right? But, then they offered her slightly more as a merit award. The two are mutually exclusive and come with their own rules and regulations. If she takes the merit, she has to requalify every year. If she takes the discount, she can't change majors.
And none of this comes without work on our part. The FAFSA is looming, although we won't qualify for need-based aid (like so many middle-class Americans, we can't exactly afford tuition, but we can't can't afford it to the extent that someone else wants to pay it for us). But, we've saved since she was three, plus there are grants, work-study opportunities and the dreaded college loans to consider. And, she is being considered for an additional equestrian scholarship and will compete for several more sponsored by organizations in our town.
And, let's get real, it isn't as though we'll stop working while she's in school. (Don't I wish?!?) Tuition will become another bill that we pay. We're used to that. (Aren't we all?!?)
The good news (well, aside from acceptances and scholarships, which I would classify as great news) is that — in theory — some of our expenses are going to decrease when she hits the road. For example ...
1. Stabling and other costs
Wherever my daughter and her trusty steed end up, we will still be footing the bill for his room and board as well as hers. But, happily, the costs are considerably lower outside our general area. Then again, so is real estate, but we'll probably wait on that.
2. Cookie dough and other comestibles
This fairly expensive so-called "after-school snack" (so-called by my daughter, obvs) will no longer be required. Call us crazy, but my husband and I prefer our cookies cooked. The same holds true for other weekly grocery staples, such as orange soda, fruit roll-ups and cheese poofs.
3. Boots and other necessities
My daughter has only two feet, but a boot collection that somehow continues to grow. In fact, many of our trips to the mall for completely unrelated errands result in a new addition. And, I could make the same observation about leggings, tee shirts, jewelry and more. You may (rightly) view this as an inability on the part of yours truly to use the word "No." But, we have to assume that less shopping together will mean less ... well ... shopping.
Hmmm. Our monthly finances may not feel so different after all.
Now, if I can just make sure there isn't a Starbucks, Panera, Bertucci's or Chipotle (e coli scare not withstanding) near her campus, we'll be all set.
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Alas, poor Twinkie. I knew him well.
It was official on Friday. Hostess announced that it was shutting down. No more golden sponge cake with creamy filling. No more Twinkie the Kid. No more Twinkies. Really. Like, forever.
Twinkies are to junk food what Mecca is to Islam. What Shakespeare is to an English major. What Darren Criss is to a teenage girl (at least the one in my house). The ultimate ultimate.
My day-to-day life won't change too much. My daughter, who has the world's most insatiable sweet tooth, prefers raw cookie dough, Starbursts and Ben & Jerry's. But, that doesn't mean Twinkies won't be missed.
As a child, I ate my share of Hostess products. My mom would buy boxes of individually wrapped snack cakes and slip them into our school lunches. (My favorites were Yodels, because you could creatively dissect them. Nibble the chocolate icing edge on the bottom first. Then, peel the rest of the icing. Then, unroll the cake. Then, eat the cream filling, followed by the cake, followed by the icing.)
Many (many, many) years later, I was the Creative Director at an ad agency in Boston. We were promoting a regional bank and its commitment to small business clients, a group who wears multiple hats and pretty much eats at their desk or on the run. Our bank client was proposing to make their lives easier. We designed a 3-dimensional pyramid-shaped box with a teaser that read, "Is this your idea of a power lunch?" Inside, was a package of Twinkies and an invitation to a nice lunch with a business banker. At least, that was the plan.
While the mailing was at the printer, Hostess issued a nationwide recall on ... you guessed it ... Twinkies. Traces of asbestos had been found in the popular snack cakes. We had to switch gears. Fast. The 5,000 Twinkies packs were replaced by 5,000 peanut butter and cheese cracker packs.
Twinkies for lunch? Funny.
Peanut butter and cheese crackers for lunch? Not so much.
But happily, that's not the only time Hostess played a role in my career. At a different agency, Twinkies helped us crack a difficult client relationship. Our client, a marketing director from a major financial services organization, was demanding, humorless and downright ornery. We were at our wits' end. Until, someone had the bright idea of bringing a tray of snack cakes into the meeting. Almost instantly, the disgruntled adult became a playful kid. For the first time in many months, the client smiled, laughed and actually appreciated the advertising ideas.
Thank you, Twinkie the Kid!
And now, in 2012 — the year that the ancient Mayans foretold life as we know it would end — Twinkies are no more.
What of Twinkies' less celebrated but equally sinful sisters and brothers? Along with T's demise, we must also mourn the loss of the famous Hostess Cupcake, Hostess Ding Dong and Hostess Ho Ho. I confess I'll miss even the most disgusting snack cake of all: the Hostess Sno Ball. No matter how many sweets or how much garbage was in my shopping cart, I could always feel self-righteous as I passed by those revolting pink monstrosities.
And, in the monopolistic world of snack cakes, Hostess takes other labels with it. At this sad, sad time, we are also losing Drake's with its Yodels (sob), Ring Dings and Devil Dogs.
Twinkies were invented in 1930 but in this day and age, their loss is rippling through cyberspace. Google "Twinkies" and you'll come up with nearly 14 million hits in 0.17 seconds. (Who measures this stuff anyway?) For a real laugh, go on ebay and you'll find 12,800 active auctions. I have to assume that the $18,000,000 listing is a joke. There's a $3,000 Twinkie lunchbox and a $3,000 Twinkie Hawaiian shirt. But, my favorite is the vintage full-length mink coat that lists "Bonus 1 Sealed Twinkie."
But, fear not my vegan readers. Before I let my nostalgia for a snack cake persuade me to buy an ethically irresponsible coat, I am comforted by my belief that someone will bail out Twinkies. It's no different from Wall Street or the auto industry. What would America be without Hostess cakes? It's just a matter of time.
After all, everybody loves a comeback.
