Apparently they aren’t made from real zebras, because if they were zebras would be declared delicious.
I have yet to see a news article proclaiming the above statement, therefore I have to assume these little cakes, carefully wrapped as a pair, covered in frosting and chocolate drizzles are made from the sweet wings of baby angels. And don’t forget the layer of diabetes that awaits you in the middle.
My place of employment resides close to a discount grocery store. The convenience and affordability requires me to visit regularly on lunch breaks. Every time I enter in the store, there is an end cap of Nutty Bars, Star Crunches, Swiss Rolls and Oatmeal Cream Pies strategically placed at eye level, packaging adorned with colors so vivid and an all appealing picture of the treat I so desire.
And there she was, Little Debbie herself, staring at me with those big blue eyes and her dimples welcoming me to “Unwrap a smile.” I was lured to the display daily; I would stare at the small layer of cardboard and plastic wrap which was the only thing that stood in my way as I searched for my moment of zebra bliss.
As I grabbed the flat white box I instantly felt ashamed, for like an addict in need of a fix, I felt the rush of excitement zoom through my body followed by a surge of remorse. For I knew if I purchased this box of snack cakes, each set would not survive the six hours I had left at work. I knew this because the last time I bought a box of Zebra cakes they magically disappeared; to this day I swear the box ate itself. My friends held an intervention for me, despite my best efforts to deny that I had a problem. I suppose the residual frosting plastered to my lips, and the cake crumbles that rested so comfortably on my bosom gave me away. I needed help.
I have been Zebra Cake free for 7 months…until today.
It was 3:00pm. It was cold, and I was hungry. I wanted a snack so I went to the vending machine at work. Not having exact change for the item I wanted, which by the way was Baked Lays, I made my way back to my desk when there I saw waiting for me two were two little Zebra Cakes in their saran wrapper leaning on my keyboard. Someone had left them for me as a treat and I couldn’t resist. They were perfectly shaped, frosted thoroughly and drizzled with dark chocolate zigzags that were equidistant in length and width, just as I had remembered. As I picked up the heavenly duo, I immediately regressed into my previous behavior. Oh to feel the crinkle of the packaging in my fingers again; the intoxicating smells of the saccharine love that I once knew. And alas, the first comforting bite of that smile that Little Debbie had promised me.
I guess you could say I fell off the Zebra Cake wagon. I am hoping this fix will last me another 7 months. For if I relapse once more, my obituary will most likely read, “Woman, 29, dies of Zebra Cake Overdose,” which is not my idea of a proper legacy.