There are cookies in my house. Now I know that to a normal
person having cookies in the house isn’t a big deal.
There are cookies in my house.
Now I know that to a normal person having cookies in the house isn’t a big deal. But I am not normal. I cannot resist the siren call of the cookies. And now they are in my pantry, just waiting for me to scarf down the entire box. And if I’m not careful, I will do exactly that.
You see, they won’t leave me alone. They’re calling me. Oh, you may not hear them, but I do. “Laurie,” they whisper as I struggle to zip up my fat jeans. “We’re in the pantry. You love us. We’re soft and delicious and covered with gooey frosting and those little sprinkle thingies that get all over your lap when you inhale the entire box of cookies.”
Please. Who can resist? I can’t. I love cookies, especially those soft delicious ones covered with gooey frosting and those little sprinkle thingies. And when I say love, I really mean, “I have to eat them or I will die even if I have to buy a larger size pair of fat pants.” Seriously. Not even the horrific thought that bathing suit season is right around the corner and I may have to invest in one of those suits with a little skirt and a large stomach flattener can keep me away from those cookies.
Oh, I’ve tried to resist. I cleaned the bathrooms – look, let’s be honest here. I don’t know of any better way to suppress an appetite than to clean a 12-year-old boy’s bathroom. There are stains in there that nobody wants to identify. There are towels all over the floor and they are no longer their original color. And just in case you are eating while reading, I will spare you a description of the toilet. So you’d think that a good, thorough cleaning of the smelliest room in our house would make me forget about cookies – but it didn’t. I could still hear them calling my name.
So I moved on to the second smelliest room – Junior’s bedroom. I even vacuumed under the bed. I figured that the dust bunnies leaping around making me sneeze would make me unable to smell the sugar cookies downstairs in the pantry. No luck there. I could still imagine their flour and sugar scent, wafting up to me, even as I cleaned lizard poo out of the gecko’s cage. Even the fact that my fat pants were very, very tight wasn’t keeping me from smelling them.
So then I decided I would eat just one. Oh, please. Someone should save me from myself. Have you ever met a person who could eat JUST ONE COOKIE? It’s insane. Nobody eats just one cookie. Well, maybe those skinny actresses. But I seriously think they probably eat more than one and purge them afterward. Anyway, I gave in to temptation. I ate one scrumptious cookie. And you can figure out that one was not enough. I mean, I tried to stick with just one. I ate it slowly. I relished it. I picked every single one of the little sprinkle thingies off my shirt and ate them.
And then, before I knew it, the entire box was gone. I looked for the cookies, thinking they maybe had gone missing or something. Unfortunately, I soon had to come to terms with reality. I had eaten every single one of the cookies. The entire package. The whole shebang. The frosting stains on my lips were proof. Not to mention that my fat pants had popped a button.
And yet I still wanted more. And by more, I mean every dang cookie in the entire South Valley. In fact, at that point, I wanted even cookies I don’t like. Oh wait. There are no cookies I don’t like. Well, I’m not all that fond of biscotti, to be honest. But I swear to you, right there, right then with the crumbs of my gooey sugar cookies still hanging off my lips, I would have eaten biscotti. But I wouldn’t have enjoyed them as much as the other cookies. Unless they were chocolate.
Anyway, I couldn’t stop myself from craving cookies. Heck, if cleaning a bathroom and a lizard cage wouldn’t stop me from wanting cookies, nothing was going to work. But I could have willpower. I could resist. I could overcome the siren call of the cookie.
But before I do, I’m going to run to the grocery store. I’m out of cookies, you know.
