The Ding Dong Disaster – And I’m Not Talking About Christmas Bells

Ding Dong devastation. Maybe Santa will put some in my stocking for Christmas.

By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher

I love Ding Dongs. It’s a trashy sort of love affair. I get that, but nonetheless, I’m all in. So, when it became my turn at the wheel to head west for the holidays, I knew what I needed to navigate the tumultuous Texas highways: Ding Dongs.

Now this is a very special thing because I do not partake in my decadent Ding Dong desire often. It’s pretty much an annual thing at this point, especially since I’ve really worked on my weight situation. But, I figured I had lost 22 pounds this year, and I was having my double pack of Ding Dongs as a celebration of the near year-long dreaded diet. The undertaking had been filled with blood, sweat and tears – and that was just what I had inflicted on my people as I was going through it – so in my mind, I had earned this double pack of deliciousness.

I got adjusted in Mr. Kaminski’s seat – that takes a minute – found a radio station to my liking, and the first song that came on was Rhinestone Cowboy. “Oh my gosh,” I exclaimed to Mr. Kaminski. “I woke up singing that song just this week!” “Are you serious?” he queried like I had lost my mind. I was not amused. I adore Glen Campbell. It’s a thing. I’ve loved him for years. Well, except for that brief Tanya Tucker period. I felt like that was a train wreck. Turns out I was right.

I ignored Mr. Kaminski’s negativity and turned up the radio. I savored part A of my Ding Dong, very slowly, and enjoyed the vintage radio station where you will never believe what happened next. The station was giving away tickets to Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth to see Pat Green. Well, I know where Fort Worth is, and I know how to get there. Plus. Lisa Ann is always up for an impromptu road trip, so I knew she would be in. Billy Bob’s, Pat Green, yep, this was clearly a sign. I picked up my phone and started dialing feeling lucky. It was likely a sugar rush since I don’t indulge often anymore, but nonetheless, I was feeling positive. I was dodging tumbleweeds in far Northwest Texas in gale force winds singing Wave on Wave at the top of my lungs certain I was in line to be the winning caller. I was a multi-tasking happy girl when it happened: the Ding Dong disaster.

As a tumbleweed the size of a mobile home came tumbling across the highway, I swerved to miss it and madness ensued. My phone went flying, I lost my place in line to win the tickets, and the worst of the worst happened: part B of my Ding Dong went flying to the floorboard. Of course, Mr. Kaminski missed the entire episode, his snoring completely uninterrupted by the tragedy.

I worked tirelessly to retrieve my treasured treat. It did not fare well. I was devastated. When Mr. Kaminski awoke, I informed him of the tragic tale. He did not share my sorrow. “We’ll just get you another pack of Ding Dongs,” he logically stated. “That absolutely will not work,” I replied. “There are two in a pack, and I can only have one.” I’m both a serious and serial dieter. He rolled his eyes, gave me a hug and said, “Honey, it’s Christmas. Eat the dang Ding Dong.” Dang I love that man.

My Christmas wish for y’all is to enjoy – do it all and for goodness sakes, eat the dang Ding Dong. Ho, ho, hugs! See y’all next week – on the porch!

Patti Parish-Kaminski

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