We have discussed my husband’s scheming plots here before. His sneaky thefts did not start with the iPod. The looting started long before that. His trickery is a repeating spiral of deception (this is where I feel the need to add for those that do not get my humor, that I am kidding. My husband is the sweetest man alive. The following story is told with tongue in cheek)…

When my husband and I first got married, we had a little argument. It has been almost sixteen years. I have never let it go. I think this is not healthy.

You see, I was pregnant and all I wanted besides hamburgers, cake, and ice cream were Twix candy bars. I would buy them by the handful at the grocery store.

One day something tragic happened.

I opened the cupboard before I went to work and there lying on the shelf was the only survivor of my traumatic food binge from the night before. The gold wrapper of the Twix bar sparkled like tears in the fluorescent kitchen light. I thought about sparing the poor soul. But then I remembered he was made of chocolate. I patted his crinkly skin and vowed to end his torment the moment I got home from work. I gently shut the cupboard doors and begrudgingly left for work.

All day I daydreamed of my victim.

The gooey caramel that would spill forth when I bit into its chocolate flesh. The scream of the wrapper as I ripped it apart. The crunch of its cookie foundation as I devoured its essence.

I could not wait.

The moment I got home I ran to the cupboard. I threw open the doors expecting to see my gleaming golden prize.

Instead I saw…

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

I knew only one thing could have happened.

Someone else must have gotten to my source of happiness first.

I spun around and faced my husband who was innocently humming to himself as he fried some onions in a pan for dinner. He did not know he had the worst kind of monster behind him.

The hungry angry wife.

“Did you eat my Twix Bar?” I practically shouted. I really did not need to hear his answer. It was quite obvious that he had. There were two people who had a key to our apartment. The two people in the kitchen. And those two people had an unhealthy obsession with Twix Bars.

My husband spun around surprised. “N-n-n-o.”

“Well then, where is it? I left it right here before I left this morning.”

The candy thief My husband had composed himself while I spoke. Now he was indignant. “Well, I didn’t eat it. Maybe you ate it and forgot.”

Maybe I ate it and forgot?

The devoured Twix Bar probably boiled like lava in his stomach from the fire shooting from my eyes.

Six words had never made me madder.

As if I would not remember the experience of eating my chocolatey treat. As if I was some sort of candy eating creature who searched the cupboards and thoughtlessly devoured anything sweet in sight (let’s forget about the Twix’s brothers that had disappeared, themselves, throughout the week. This was simply about Twix himself and I knew I had not eaten him).

“I didn’t eat the Twix bar! You ate it! I know you ate it!”

“I didn’t eat it! I didn’t even know we had a Twix bar!”

“I know you did it. Just admit it.” (This was the time in our lives when our only VHS tape was a Chris Rock video. I am pretty sure he did not mean a candy bar when he said those lines).

“I didn’t do it!”

This went on and on.

For sixteen years. We go back and forth about the candy bar a few times a year. Isn’t that sweet?

But I know my husband ate my Twix Bar. I sometimes wish I could go back in time and go over the crime scene one more time. Smell his breath. His fingers. Check the trash can for the the wrapper. But I can’t. So now I just need him to admit the truth.

He has maintained his innocence for more than a decade. I don’t believe the facade for a second.

We have gone through years of Twix slogans taunting us on the television.

A few years ago Twix ran with the phrase, “Two for me. None for you.” I would glare at my husband and ask him in response to the commercial, “Did you write that?”

There is now the more recent campaign, “Need a moment. Chew it over with Twix.” I can perfectly picture him reliving the moment when I first asked him if he had eaten my golden candy bar. If only he had had a moment to think of a better answer…

I think my husband has a secret side job.

How else to explain the ads?

My children have been born and raised with the Twix homicide story. I have not asked them to take up the case when they get older. It is not a mystery. It is not an unsolved crime. We do not need a detective.

I know my husband did it.

Now I just need him to admit it.

Any ideas on how to catch a criminal? Do you ever have ridiculous fights with your partner? Did the Twix Bar get up and walk away from its captors? Most importantly, do you think he ate it?

In the words of the candy bar in question, “Try both and pick a side. Chew it over with Twix.”