And now for something completely different. . .

Okay. . .I'm not normally one to go throwin' around my husband's "credentials". . .and you may take that however you choose. . .but he is a funny guy. This is hidden to much of the free and/or captive world by his quiet, shy, introverted, I'm-not-interested-in-you-because-we-do-not-share-a-blood-or-name-tie demeanor. We are the most unlikely of pairings. . .and we were told so. . .by a therapist. HOWEVER,that does not change the fact that he amuses me on many more occasions than I can recount. Much like me being amused at myself more than anyone else is, it might hold true to me being amused at my husband more than anyone else is.

That being said, and by way of explanation, allow me to tell you that Tony has exactly, precisely, FOUR (4,IV, one less than 5, one more than 3--add your own Monty Python reference here) friends. I guess he sort of really has five, but one of them married his sister (that was almost a deal breaker right there) so he doesn't count anymore--having the whole related thing going on. His three BEST friends are Eagle Scouts.

I had NO IDEA about Eagle Scouts before I dated and married one. It's the hoitiest-toitiest-snobbiest club of men you can imagine. It's jocularity, [WELL-DESERVED] hubris, and a job well done all heartily mixed together, run amok, and dosed with liberal amounts of testosterone, wood smoke, and dirt.

As a newcomer to the state, my running joke was that I'd never met anyone more conceited than a Texan until I actually MOVED to Texas and met Aggies. Now imagine the rip in the space time continuum (can you tell I'm married to an Eagle Scout yet?) were the three COMBINED. Thankfully, all of the Eagle Scouts I know graduated from the University of Houston except for one. . .and he graduated from a school IN Houston before graduating from another school too.

Anywho. . .my husband and his cronies have gadded about on more than one campout/cookout/tube down the river (where he lost our LAST $20 for that month)/push a broken down vehicle/invent new games/fish for crustaceans/play poker for chips/drink gallons of Kool-aid and smoke cigars the wives don't know about trips than one can imagine. They don't get together as much anymore due to a total of 4 wives, 8 children, and the price of gas, so they must resort to e-mail. Most of the time, I am none-the-wiser. But, on occasion, I am allowed to peer into the great chasm of Eagle Scoutedness and comraderie to take a look at what I'm missing.

Over the next day or two, I will take a break from the estrogen heavy blogging that goes on here and regale you with a brief example of their humor as it relates to a confection called the Moon Pie.

If you are not southern, nor have you ever been to the south, there are many things you might not know actually exist on the planet. Ever seen Spanish peanuts suspended in hard-as-a-rock, pinkish-red candy and shaped like a puck? Well, I can tell you where to find 'em. Did you see "Dances with Wolves?" Remember the guy eating eggs out of a jar? They stuck in his beard and he spewed them forth with every word he said. I've seen those eggs. They probably came from the same batch. . .and they are PICKLED, for heaven's sakes. I've also seen post-mortem pig's feet in the same condition. . .on a counter. . .in a gas station. . .owned by a relative.

Not far from those humblest of southern delicacies will one find the actual, name brand Moon Pie. Now growing up, I was often allowed to choose treats from establishments that boasted a full array of southern cuisine including the aforementioned dairy, animal, and nut products. It was normally 150 degrees outside--my feet were normally bare (the soles of which are still permanently hardened by walking atop boiling hot asphalt to get to said establishment)--and the array they had was always cheap. I was normally not a fan of the Moon Pie. I had the occasional chocolate, but I preferred Push-Ups or Jack's Lemon cookies, or a Baby Ruth for my quarter. Yes, I said a QUARTER!!!

My husband still cringes to think of the RUR-AL-NESS of the girl who gave birth to his Texan offspring. . .but he cannot deny his hidden link to my upbringing, because he dearly loves a banana Moon Pie--with or without an RC (which he also enjoys from time to time.)

We have searched in vain, in Houston, for many years to find a banana Moon Pie. We have looked high. We have looked low. One time my unsuspecting mother suggested I just buy a box of Little Debbie banana moon pie type pastry. Katie, bar the door!!!! I dared not even mention it to the man. His blood pressure would have sky-rocketed and he could have gotten his own pie from the actual Moon itself.

The hunt continued. On trips home in lesser known parts of Texas and Louisiana, I'd sometimes happen across a double-decker banana Moon Pie. You will find those in the same place you find a Cotton ICED (NOT GLAZED) honey bun. I'd buy two and surprise him. But nothing prepared my unsuspecting husband for the treat that lay in store during summer '06. . .