COOKIE!
No one has ever inquired about this, but just in case you ever get the urge to one of those silly get-to-know-you-better questions like, If you were a Sesame Street character, which would you be? I'll save you the trouble.
Cookie Monster.
Yep, that would be me. It's a shock, I know.
Most people would have me pegged as an Oscar The Grouch kind of guy. Must be my warm and effervescent personality.
It wouldn't be any other character. I'm pretty good with numbers and I mentally survive marathons mostly because I work mileage fractions in my head for three and a half hours at a time, but I wouldn't be The Count.
I'm not tall enough to be Big Bird. I have no desire for the sort of all-too-cozy relationship Bert and Ernie have, so I wouldn't be them either. Grover? Too annoying. Elmo? Don't think so.
Sorry, nice try. I'm definitely a Cookie Monster guy. Despite my otherwise-healthy lifestyle, I'm helpless when it comes to cookies. Not all cookies, though. Just the good ones. The ones with chocolate chips or peanut butter or nuts or frosting or colorful sprinkles.
OK, I like 'em all.
But I'm especially a sucker for sugar-laden Christmas cookies. You know, the ones that would send a diabetic to the emergency room with even the slightest whiff. Mmmm. Like little slices of heaven to my tastebuds. What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.
So imagine the nirvana when Greatest Girlfriend Ever suggested we bake some on a cold Friday night. How could I refuse, even if it meant I had to play domestic for a couple of hours? The reward was too great to resist.
We made more than four dozen individual masterpieces. I can't take a whole lot of credit for them. I helped with the cutting -- even eschewing the handy metal cutters to carve a few freehand -- and the decorating, but little more. GGE put together the dough and frosting from scratch. I'm almost ashamed I didn't have a greater role. But, GGE, I promise you this: I will be more helpful when it comes to eating the cookies.
They won't comprise the portion of my diet I wish they would, however. GGE is on top of this. She knows my weakness. She has fabricated reasons why we can't eat them yet. She says she's going to save them for the coming weeks when she has family and friends at her house. She's freezing them until then, picking and choosing the rare moments when her deserving boyfriend has earn a small ration.
Gotta love that. She's saving me from myself.
Of course, I don't love it quite as much as I would the opportunity to devour the cookies by the fistful until I become ill.
Cookie Monster.
Yep, that would be me. It's a shock, I know.
Most people would have me pegged as an Oscar The Grouch kind of guy. Must be my warm and effervescent personality.
It wouldn't be any other character. I'm pretty good with numbers and I mentally survive marathons mostly because I work mileage fractions in my head for three and a half hours at a time, but I wouldn't be The Count.
I'm not tall enough to be Big Bird. I have no desire for the sort of all-too-cozy relationship Bert and Ernie have, so I wouldn't be them either. Grover? Too annoying. Elmo? Don't think so.
Sorry, nice try. I'm definitely a Cookie Monster guy. Despite my otherwise-healthy lifestyle, I'm helpless when it comes to cookies. Not all cookies, though. Just the good ones. The ones with chocolate chips or peanut butter or nuts or frosting or colorful sprinkles.
OK, I like 'em all.
But I'm especially a sucker for sugar-laden Christmas cookies. You know, the ones that would send a diabetic to the emergency room with even the slightest whiff. Mmmm. Like little slices of heaven to my tastebuds. What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.
So imagine the nirvana when Greatest Girlfriend Ever suggested we bake some on a cold Friday night. How could I refuse, even if it meant I had to play domestic for a couple of hours? The reward was too great to resist.
We made more than four dozen individual masterpieces. I can't take a whole lot of credit for them. I helped with the cutting -- even eschewing the handy metal cutters to carve a few freehand -- and the decorating, but little more. GGE put together the dough and frosting from scratch. I'm almost ashamed I didn't have a greater role. But, GGE, I promise you this: I will be more helpful when it comes to eating the cookies.
They won't comprise the portion of my diet I wish they would, however. GGE is on top of this. She knows my weakness. She has fabricated reasons why we can't eat them yet. She says she's going to save them for the coming weeks when she has family and friends at her house. She's freezing them until then, picking and choosing the rare moments when her deserving boyfriend has earn a small ration.
Gotta love that. She's saving me from myself.
Of course, I don't love it quite as much as I would the opportunity to devour the cookies by the fistful until I become ill.
posted by RTG at 9:36 AM
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