The Tale of the Three Quarter Honeybun-Eating Raccoon

I have decided that if Little Debbie made their honeybuns one quarter smaller, my car and my kitchen would be 100% cleaner. See, I have this three quarter honeybun-eating raccoon that up until now I thought only lived in my car but thanks to the one quarter of honeybun left on my kitchen counter this morning, I now know he has found a way into my house. Before anyone calls CPS on me for allowing my children to live with a raccoon that eats three quarters of honeybuns, I should clarify that technically there is no raccoon but rather a husband who eats like a raccoon. Or rather, how I think a raccoon would eat. A husband who can only bring himself to eat three quarters of a honeybun and leaves the other one quarter on the passenger seat and floor of my car and now on the counter in the kitchen. I think there was a point when I could have taken all the left over one quarters and made the world’s largest honeybun but the husband pointed out that should I ever be stranded in my car in the snow (it’s 62 degrees here in South Carolina) I would be able to survive off the left over honeybun quarters (aka emergency food supply) until help arrived. Who knew that making the passenger side of my car look like raccoons had picked over the honeybun wing of The Little Debbie Factory was all for MY benefit should I ever be stranded in a snowstorm.

I called the husband this morning to caution that while I did not want to alarm him, I thought he should know the three quarter honeybun-eating raccoon had made its way from my car to the house. After he hung up the phone his coworkers wanted to know what kind of conversation we could possibly have that contained the words “honeybun, stick of butter (there was a time when we had a half a stick of butter-eating raccoon in the car but he came and went in a day), raccoon, car, and kitchen. The husband explained our inside raccoon joke to his all male coworkers. He told them that every morning he likes to eat two honeybuns but after eating one and three quarter honeybuns, he is just too full to eat the other quarter so leaves the quarter in the car as a favor to me should I ever be trapped in the car in the middle of a snowstorm and need one quarter of a honey bun an emergency food supply. His coworkers totally understood. In fact, one related that it was just like when you know a value meal is not going to be enough so you order an extra cheeseburger but by the time you get to the cheeseburger you are just too full to eat the last few bites. So there the cheeseburger remnant remains (giving the appearance of a visit from a little cheeseburger-eating raccoon) until either

a. one is stranded in the car in the middle of a snowstorm and must eat the cheeseburger remnant emergency food supply
b. wife picks up the leftover cheeseburger remnant emergency food supply and throws it in the trash because she is apparently the only one who can recognize the cheeseburger remnant emergency food supply for what it actually is: garbage.

I don’t know what I understand less: why men don’t throw food away or how men can NOT eat the last few bites of something to finish it off. Lloyd always takes about how he only likes to eat until he is comfortable. He hates to be full. I imagine this is how he maintains a healthy weight in spite of the fact his diet consists primarily of the nougat and nugget food groups but I don’t understand it. How can one or two bites of honeybun make anyone more full than not eating one or two bites of honeybun? How can one have the sweet, yummy, glazed goodness of a honeybun and stop with only a bite or two left? How can anyone have a delicious, warm, cheesy burger and not eat the last few bites. Perhaps this is just one of those strange things that separate the sexes because I know of nary a woman who would be able to resist the last tempting bites of something so good. Maybe that’s the problem with me and why the last few baby pounds are lingering. Maybe I need to make like a raccoon man and start leaving food remnants emergency food supplies in my wake