The Snack-Gate Scandal of 2025

The day that changed the course of insulin and landed me on every kid’s shit list

It started off as an ordinary day. I uttered no less than 6,592 curse words and drank seven coffees before 11 a.m.

School pick-up arrived as a jarring shock to my system, despite my having done the act approximately 11,440 times to date. I looked at my watch, shrieked, abandoned a work call mid-sentence, ran around in a circle 42 times, tripped over piles of unfolded laundry, grabbed my keys, and arrived 14 minutes late (as always).

When my two bleary-eyed children climbed into the car, the usual conversation unfolded.

Me: Hi guys! How were your days?

Spawn [both yawning]: Fine.

Me: Anything fun or interesting happen?

Spawn: No

Me: How was lunch?

Elder spawn: Pretty good. I got a Twinkie®.

Me [nearly hitting a pedestrian]: Sorry? You got a… Twi- a what?

Elder spawn: A Twinkie®! It was lit. They were out of Ding Dongs® so I tried a Twinkie and man, they’re sigma.

Sweat started to form on my Botox-deprived forehead.

“Um… how did you get a Twinkie®? I thought those died in 1993 along with childhood innocence,” I screeched along with the wheels of my truck taking a punishing curb.

“What are you talking about, Mom?” squawked my older son. “Twinkies® are bussin’ bruh,” and then he made a strange hand gesture that reminded me of something from an old Tupac video.

It was then that I understood how doomed the human race truly was.

Fueled by morbid curiosity and general Gen X bewilderment — I decided to get to the bottom of this snack situation.

I am not an over-the-top health nut by any stretch of the imagination. I love all the things — from Cheetos® to Moon Pies® and gummy candy, chock full of all the treacherous dyes. But something about my kids eating Twinkies® or Ding Dongs® at school set me off.

It just seemed so unnecessary. Give them a good old Chips A’hoy® any day of the week — but a Twinkie® — why?

So, I did what any triggered mother would do: I took to WhatsApp to collect feedback from fellow school moms. Most were silent, some talked about field trips, but a few agreed that it was a tad unnecessary for kids to consume Twinkies® during the school-day. Save it for a playdate at someone else’s house.

I sent a polite note to several administrators who told me I was “empowered” to go directly to the snack purveyor for the school. Why thank you!

I exchanged a few painfully awkward emails with a man at “Poison Your Kids Snacks ‘n Co.” about how kids should have healthier options (me), but they won’t buy healthy snacks when given a choice (him) — so take away the GD Twinkies and then they’ll have to buy the cardboard granola bars instead (me). But we’ll lose money (him). Let’s try it anyway and see what happens (me).

Let’s face it — given a choice between cake and carrots, I’m going to choose cake every damn time, and I’m a more-or-less fully-formed adult. But cake is actually yummy and we just pretend carrots are. We can’t expect kids to choose “Pumpkin Granola Kale Yum Yum Bites” over a Twinkie.

We ended our exchange with a plan in place. I felt victorious and cocky. I was headed down a path of salvation for those sweet innocents who were dosing themselves with enough glucose to fuel Jeff Bezos’s next D-list celebrity-fueled rocket expedition.

I would be the hero responsible for banishing Twinkies or any other Hostess® product to the depths of naughty snack prison.

The next day, the Twinkies were gone. There in place, lining the shelves, were packages of Pesticide-laced “Made-Good®” granola bars, cheddary styrofoam or “ Pirate’s Booty®,” fake-ass veggies or “Veggie Straws®,” sugar-laden Nutri-Grain Bars®, and sodium-bomb Sun Chips®.

Now I felt like a crusader. A warrior. A mama-bear heroine extraordinaire. I felt like the star of a Netflix docu-drama starring Kaitlyn Dever. I was ready to accept an award at the next school assembly and have my plaque put in the front office for all to see: Patron Saint of Healthy-ish Snacks.

I prepared my acceptance speech. I gloated to my family. I bragged to all my friends. Look what I did! I made those Twinkies disappear, suckers. No more Ding Dongs for little Susie! Go gnaw on that metallic-tasting granola bar, kid!

You’re welcome.

Two weeks later, I asked the kids how the snacks were and if they were buying any “new, yummy, healthy, scrumptious” options!

“Oh, those are all gone,” they informed me.

“Ha, they just can’t keep up with demand, eh?” I snarked.

“No, they don’t offer them anymore. They brought back the good stuff.”

“What?! What do you mean anymore? This just happened like 10 days ago!” I squealed with my fists clenched as they sh

rugged their shoulders and walked away. I composed myself and called the snack-dealer to confirm. Sales had plummeted so fast they had no choice but to bring the Hostess® fleet back.

He assured me they would keep the Pirate’s Booty — his smugness oozing through the phone.

I grimaced and let the wave of defeat wash over me. There would be no plaque in the front office. No acceptance speech to give. Just me, alone with my thoughts and a half-eaten bag of Kale Yum Yums — mocking me with each soggy, slimy bite.