Overdrive: will be set off by anything that holds my attention for longer than 32 seconds. Lock up your children and your texts.

To continue in my previous vein of hate-on-commercials, I just saw a Caramilk commercial. They can't quite seem to give up the whole "secret to getting the caramel inside a caramilk bar" (P.S. Cadbury: The secret's been out for 10+ years, give it up already), but this one had a variation.
Unfortunately I can't find a posted web version yet, which reduces me to the I-realize-annoying technique of description. Bear with me if you've already seen it, or better yet, skip to the end.
So a man, one presumes the archetypal 50s bread winner, arrives home from work. Just as he walks in the door, his perfect, pearl-sporting wife pops the very last piece of her Caramilk bar into her mouth -- not by accident, not to her dismay when she realizes he might have wanted it, but quickly, selfishly, so that he doesn't have the opportunity to ask for it. This goes on over and over, each episode representing a successive decade (with surprisingly no adverse affect to wifey's waistline). The husband gets more and more disgusted.
Until finally the day comes when the husband hobbles in the door using a walker. He looks expectantly to see the last piece disappear, when suddenly a surprised smile lights his face...
In her dotage (and presumed lack of a single remaining tooth), his wife has several pieces of the Caramilk bar left. He races his walker towards her and she stuffs all the pieces into her mouth at once. The announcer then coyly suggests, "Maybe the secret to the Caramilk bar isn't the caramel, but finding someone who will share" (paraphrased).

Now, my questions are as follows:
1. Did anyone else, who has seen this commercial, or who just read my rendition, have the thought, when they saw (read) his smile of excitement, before they saw her stuff her face, that maybe finally that b**** had died on the green couch (there was a green couch) and that instead of a useless, chocolate-guzzling h*-bag waiting for him to come home, the Caramilk bar was lying there in pristine untouchedness waiting for his deprived arthritic hands to cradle and consume it?

2. Did anyone else wonder why the hell a) he didn't just buy his own damn chocolate bar, or b) he bothered to come back home at all?

3. Does this interpretation mean that I am a) analysis-crazed, or b) chocolate-crazed, or c) post-feminist, or d) other (please specify)?