Cookie-A-Holic

A few days ago, I dug out all my cookie recipes and threw myself into my annual Christmas baking frenzie.  I baked sugar cookies, Snickerdoodles (which really is a silly name for a cookie, isn’t it?), double chocolate chocolately fudge cookies, and peanut butter kisses cookies.  I also baked four banana breads.  By the time I was done, four hours later, I had twelve dozen high-calorie frisbies just waiting to be ingested by me – the perpetual Cookie-A-Holic.
 
I’ve never met a cookie I didn’t like.  I always wanted the nickname "Cookie."  I’ve been known to hide my own stash of cookies so no one else in the family can find them.  That’s right.  I need help.  What I really need a 12-Step program and a weekly meeting to attend this time of the year.
 
My name is Vicky and I am a Cookie-A-Holic. 
 
It’s not that I don’t try to stop.  I do.  I go into the kitchen at least 500 times a day and stare at the cookies.  I admonish myself out loud.  "No!  You don’t need that cookie."  I briskly walk away.  Then a few minutes later, I quickly walk back in the kitchen again.  "Maybe I’ll just break off one little piece," I say to myself.  "Great idea," says the cookie devil perched on my shoulder.  I look on the other shoulder.  It’s empty because the "healthy eating" angel passed out a long time ago from sugar shock.  I break off one bite of cookie and let it melt on my tongue as I quickly close and hermetically seal the airtight container, hopefully tight enough that I can’t break into it for the next 600 years.  Unfortunately, last year I taught myself how to break a hermetical seal by chewing all the way around the lid and by the end of the day, I had ingested 3,452 little bites of cookie that, when pieced together like a puzzle, equaled the world’s largest cookie according to the Guiness Book of World Records.
 
Just before bed, I went into the bathroom to wash my face and gasped in shock.  A chocolate mustache stretched from one side of my face to the other.  As I licked my face clean and patted my bloated Snickerdoodle stomach, I realized that I’m powerless over my addiction to cookies.  And that’s okay.  Really. 
 
The cookie devil told me so. 
 
 
 
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About Vicky DeCoster

Award-winning humor writer Vicky DeCoster is the author of "From Diapers to Dorkville," "Husbands, Hot Flashes, and All That Hullabaloo!" and "The Wacky World of Womanhood." She has been published in over 60 magazines, books, and on several web sites. Vicky lives in Nebraska with her husband and two children where she loves to laugh every day. Visit her at www.wackywomanhood.com.
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