Moon Pies may have had a significant role in my personal history. A few months after we got married my second wife came home and found me munching on a Moon Pie. I had picked a box of them on the way home. She had never seen one outside the package before. “What is that you’re eating? It looks like a chocolate hubcap.”
“That, dear, is a Moon Pie. Redneck ambrosia. Cost next to nothing and pretty tasty too.”
I gave her one.
When she finished it she said, “That really is good.” Then she belatedly asked, “Uh, how many calories in one of these?”
“Not sure, but probably enough to jump-start a nuclear reactor.”
“Perhaps we should find a way to burn them off right away.”
It took me a second to recognize the hint.
“Perhaps we should.”
There is a very good chance that was the day our daughter was conceived.