suffer cookies.

i've never liked cookies. it's like saying that you don't like puppies or babies or the beatles. but i just don't. and when i tell people that after they've offered me some type of cookie or bar or sugary squares they always protest with the same thing. "oh, but you've never tried my cookies, just trust me, try one." so what can i do? they're standing there, in their christmas sweater, leering at me with their pink lipstick smudge on their teeth, an over exaggerated smile pressing me to the wall behind me, matching turtle neck collecting the skin on their neck and holding it in place. they're standing there, in their perfect cardigan sweaters and martha stewart living tote bag and plaited hair, smiling with their lips closed over their teeth and smugness oozing from behind their smart geek chic framed glasses. they're standing there, in their sensible shoes and kleenex stuffed sleeves and permanently permed white hair curling in puffs over their ears, waiting, watching. what the fuck am i supposed to do? i take the cookie and they watch. because you're a virgin and they want to be your first, the first cookie that makes you experienced, that makes you a devout cookie consumer. or something. so they're watching me and i'm eating the fucking cookie. and it crumbles in my mouth in between my teeth and they're slow motion nodding, the corners of their lips curling with smug anticipation "see i told you" and i'm chewing and i'm tasting and i'm experiencing this cookie in all its glory and the truth is that i still don't like cookies. so i smile a slow motion fake smile with the combination nodding and neck bobbing that accompanies every falsely backed conversation that you've ever had in your life. and this will set the egotistical baker off, into books of recipes and variations that they can provide for you, the new cookie collecter. and i still don't like cookies. my great grandmother was very old and very sweet and i used to spend many hours at her house while my mother went shopping. i would have prefered my grandmother but she lived too far away so i was stuck with the greater version, the much older version. spending time with an old lady was already less than thrilling for an eight year old but make that lady ancient and you have an afternoon that will bore you to tears. and that's okay too, since then you have a tragedy and the great grandmother can't see you cry anyways because her eyes are bad. so she made those cookies that have jelly in the middle, some sort of gelatin or sugared cherries, something very sticky and dry, that felt disgusting in your mouth as your teeth broke through the muggy mess and in doing so shattered the dry crumbly cookie. she couldn't see, she could't see all the other things that went into these cookies. such as stray old lady hairs and spare raisins and the corners of milk bags and twist ties. things that an eight year old knows very well do not belong in cookies. i don't like cookies because i think of these cookies, my first experience with the so-called delectable desserts that serve a double purpose as snacks also. i think of these cookies and i want to gag, but i also want to hug my great grandmother since she only bothered for my sake anyway.