BUTTERFINGER® Bar Insurance

Santa put a Butterfinger in my stocking on Christmas and since I had too many cookies that day I stashed it in my underwear drawer to eat later when I could savor each delicious bite. I waited for the perfect moment and then I went to get it. It was gone. The wrapper was there, but the Butterfinger was gone. I looked at the cat. He was asleep. I looked at the dog. No, he would have eaten wrapper and all if he were guilty. I looked at my husband. He had a strange moustache. Wait is that chocolate? Did you eat my Butterfinger? I yelled. He was considerate enough to look guilty.