Cookie Monster

It’s funny how life changes rapidly as we grow older. Oh, take my body for instance. I had no idea what it meant when I was a young child and I heard the adults turn down a brownie, saying things like, “No thanks, I don’t want to add another 10 pounds to my hips.” And then they’d laugh uproariously.
As a child I always wondered how one gains weight on their hips.

Fast forward a few decades later and that conversation haunts me. I’m not clueless anymore. I know EXACTLY what they mean…And I’m not laughin’.


Those who know me well know that my “weakness” and “sweet passion” is a chocolate chip cookie. I like heavy, dense, sooooft and thick chocolate chip cookies. But WHY OH WHY IS THIS MY ARCH ENEMY??? It’s a love-hate relationship. It’s my best friend for the seconds I’m devouring the moist, plump, ever-so-evil cookie, but the second that cookie (wait—this is not singular—this is plural. Allow me to correct; Cookies—not cookie. I would like to see anyone eat just one.) So, the minute I finish the—plate of cookies—*cough* I attempt to get off the couch, but my hips rally together like a mob of angry protesters–but in this case it’s a mob of saturated fat—Crisco, in fact.

Suddenly, the weight on my “back end” thrusts me back down to the couch as if I had a bungee cord stuck to my underwear.

Hmmm…As I ponder the meaning of this, I make myself feel temporarily better by jamming another cookie into my cookie jar tummy.

Dang it. I couldn’t even get off the sofa.
*I bite into my cookie*
Dude, I’m gonna gain 50 lbs tonight…I’m so fat….
*I take another bite of my cookie*

Yep, they’ll call me nationwide-subdivide, or for short: “wide hide.”

If I could just keep my hands off this stupid cookie…
*I take another bite—this is so good! Oh, but wait, there I go again. This is bad, this is bad, I chant. BAD COOKIE!*

Stupid cookie….
*I take a bite of my cookie*
Stupid, stupid, chocolate chip cookie…Wow…are those Ghirardelli chocolate chips? Good heavens, that’s awesome. I think I need another….
(I blatantly ignore the warning my brain is readying for me. Depression is coming—but only after I finish just one more cookie. I can put depression off for another 5 minutes. It can wait for me. And guaranteed—it will.)



Wow…so moist, so chewy, so thick…..I can’t possibly keep this to myself…

“Heya honeysth. Youh ghotta try this!!”
My husband comes around the corner as I go for the kill and finish the cookie off and snarf it like it was my life’s oxygen source. What was I thinking? I can’t share these!

“What did you say? I couldn’t understand you.” He walks into the room. He stares at me—his brow rising just an inch as he looks at his wife’s distended cheeks, reminiscent of a self-indulgent squirrel.

I wipe a smear of mutilated chocolate off my lips. “Oh, ah….yeah….I um…can’t get off the couch. My buttocks is testing Newton’s law of gravitational pull and I just realized—against my will—that the old man knew what he was talking about and—”

My husband gives me a quizzical look.

“Well, um…yeah…could you…um…hand me the remote control? I uh…can’t reach it from here…” I tuck the plate of cookies behind me and when he’s gone, I grab another buttery-artillery weapon. I chew slowly--savoring the taste and swallow…

That was the last cookie I could eat. I sigh, my eyes tearing up as I turn to stare down at the lone cookie still left on the plate. I start to think about the last cookie I devoured--and the many before it--and the full onslaught of depression begins to assault me.
Like clockwork, depression has begun and I start moaning from the couch with a tummy ache.

The lyrics of Taylor Swift’s sad song Teardrops on My Guitar echo through my head, and in a quiet woeful voice, my love handles and I start to sing:


My cookie looks at me
I can’t fake smile ‘cause I’m so happy
What I want and what I need
Is everything on that plate singing to me

I bet it tastes wonderful
That cookie I think about
And it’s got everything
That I can’t live without

My cookie has a hold on me
I laugh, but wow, it’s so not funny
I take a bite and I can’t see
Because the yummy grease has blinded me

I know I’m so in love
But I think I’ve got it all wrong
I think I’ll be hospitalized
But won’t know it till I’ve coded

(chorus)
My cookie is the reason for the teardrops on my pillow
The only thing that makes me dream of Crisco
It’s like a song in my head I keep singing
Don’t know why but I do

My cookie tempts me
Can’t it tell that I can’t breathe?
And there it is baked so perfectly
It’s so flawless I almost cry “Yippee!”

I promise to hold it tight
And give it all my love *wink, wink*
Look in those beautiful chocolate chip eyes
And I know I’m lucky ‘cause…

(chorus)
My cookie is the reason for the teardrops on my pillow
The only thing that makes me dream of Crisco
It’s like a song in my head I keep singing
Don’t know why but I do

It’s the time taken up
But there’s never enough
And it’s all that I need to fall into (and feel guilty about later…)

My cookie stares at me
I can’t fake my smile ‘cause I’m so happy…