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.