Sugar Cookie

Three cookies were laid before Morgan, and he could not decide.

One was beige with dark brown chunks – your standard chocolate chip cookie, large, and moist-looking.

One was dark, almost black, with white chunks – a double chocolate cookie. This one looked less moist, but that may have simply been a trick of the light.

The last looked dry, pale, with nothing inside. Just as it was, a little mound of stuff, held together by who knew what. A sugar cookie, with no real benefits beyond that sugar.

Morgan was town, unsure what he wanted in a cookie. Do I want ol’ faithful? he thought. Or maybe an extra spurt of chocolate? Or just a sugar rush, a nice test for my pancreas.

“Surprise me,” Morgan finally said to the server.

“You sure? It won’t be a surprise, I’m just going to pick one of these up.”

“It’s fine. You decide for me.”

The server shrugged, then grabbed the sugar cookie. Morgan was disappointed, but didn’t want to say anything. He knew he’d still enjoy it, but he realized he had been hoping for the chocolate. Still, he paid, and went to sit down and eat the treat.

Cookie Time

Dinah had her money ready. She stood by the door, looking out the little window. She was set. Prepared.

Outside, the Girl Guides were wandering the streets, peddling their wares. Dinah was ready for this moment, the day when they would be released, when the tiny hands would come knocking, requesting payment for their goods. When Dinah’s year-long suffering would be relieved.

The time was close. She saw the Hopson girl across the street, talking to Kokras. No dice kid, she thought. The Kokras are diabetic, your sugar-laced treats will –

Dinah’s thought was cut off by the exchange of green for two boxes. Dinah frowned, knowing that was fewer boxes for her, but as the girl handed change back, she knew it would be good in the long term. The kid would probably get some more at the next troop meeting, or whatever you call it.

Finally, the time came. The Hopson kid grabbed her wagon and pulled it behind her. She stopped at the street, looked both ways, and then crossed. Dinah watched as the little girl in blue approached. She ducked out of the window before the kid noticed her, and waited, her breath a little faster.

Finally the doorbell rang. Dinah threw the door open, the child’s hand still raised from pressing the button.

“Hello, would you like – ” the kid began.

Dinah interrupted her, blurting out, “I’ll take them all!”

The kid looked at her, then at her wagon. She shrugged, then started counting. Finally she turned back and said, “That will be a hundred and eighteen dollars, please.”

Dinah fished out the cash and handed it to the kid. “Keep the change,” Dinah said, as she started pulling boxes in to her house. The kid helped her put them just in the doorway, and when the wagon was empty, she turned.

“Thank you for supporting – ,” but Dinah had already closed the door.

Homemade Cookie

Roger looked down at his plate. He frowned.

Two cookies lay before him. They looked alike – beige, with dark brown chunks in them – but were utterly, entirely different. He had tasted both. Now was decision time.

One cookie was hard and crunchy. Before biting in, he had known that it would be so. You could feel it in the texture of the cookie. It felt dry, stale perhaps, or just baked too long.

The second cookie was moist, chewy, drooping if you lifted it incautiously. It was sweet and delicious, and everything he could want in a cookie. Everything anyone could want. Fatty and sugary, and filled with the supreme cookie-ness.

“Number 2.”

“Number 2? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, sir, you say number 1 is the store cookie and number 2 is the homemade? It’s actually the reverse! Number 2 is our store-made cookie, number 1 is a homemade one. Can I interest you in buying our delicious Prince’s Choice cookies now?”

“No. Because if you have someone making homemade cookies like that one, I don’t want to know what they’ve put in your store-made cookies. I’ll make my own, thanks.” Roger turned and walked away, glad for the snack, though not for the sales pitch.

Pfeffernusse!

“Pfeffernusse! Pfeffernusse!” Teo crowed from his seat at the kitchen table.

“What are you going on about, Teo?” Faye asked, putting dishes in the dishwasher.

“I want pfeffernusse!” he said, trying to climb off the chair. His tiny legs dangled over the side, and finally, in the fearless manner of children, he let go, only the thump to the ground, cushioned by his bum.

“What? You mean perfume? I have a bit upstairs.”

Teo stood and set his hands on hips. “Moth-ER. Not perfume. Pfeffernusse! I want pfeffernusse.”

“I’m sorry dear, you need to give me a bit more than that. I don’t understand what you’re asking about.”

Teo rolled his eyes and walked toward the hall. When he reached the threshold, he turned back to his mother. “You’re supposed to know everything! When you figure it out, let me know, and we can go get some. Until then…pfeffernusse!” With that, he ran off.

Faye heard her son thumping up the stairs, then pulled out her phone and started searching.

Cookies Cure Heartburn

“Rudolph? What’s going on?”

“He said he was just popping in for a snack, Mrs. C. Something about sweets and heartburn or some such.”

“How long has he been there?”

“20 minutes, Mrs. C.”

“Go in and get him, there’s no time for this nonsense!”

“Yes Ma’am, on it.”

Rudolph trotted off, bracing himself for another battle with the old coot. His bruises from the last cookie binge weren’t fully faded yet, but a job was a job.