A while ago, I was in the airport in Atlanta, like most every other human in the America that day, and I stopped to get a sandwich. Next to me was an older woman, alone, eating and flying who-knows-where. So I did what I always do when I find myself in such a situation. I struck up a conversation Pleasantries were exchanged and she found out I work for MoonPie.“Oh my,” she said, smiling through her Mississippi accent,” I have a story for you.” And she proceeded to tell it.
“The day after my wedding,” she said, “and this was many years ago, my new husband and I were driving down the road and we got into a first class disagreement over something. I can’t even remember what it was now. But it was some ugly bickering. The day after our wedding, mind you! Well, I was pretty riled up and exasperated to beat the band and so I told him if this was how marriage was going to be maybe we should rethink this thing.”
She turned, looking out the airport windows into a long row of planes lining up for takeoff. She eased out an ironic smile.
“After a few miles and a lot of silence, he said we should pull over, grab and snack a cool off. So we did. It was one of those little roadside stores you used to see all over the South. They’re all gone now. But I do remember the snack like it was yesterday. That snack was a MoonPie. And after we ate our MoonPies together, we started laughing and we got along just fine for the rest of the trip. In fact we got along just fine for 47 more years.”
She paused again, this time, her face falling a bit into her thoughts.
“He died two years ago,” she said. “I miss him. I don’t ever eat a MoonPie without thinking about him.”
That is quite a story, ma’am,” I said. “You mind if I tell it to some people?”
“Not at all,” she said. “MoonPie saved my marriage!”
As she got up to leave, I thought about my ex-wife and I wondered if the MoonPie trick would have worked for me.