My daughter Nina's birthday. Always an exciting time. We went to the store the night before to buy cookies for her class. 24. One for each student and the teacher. Go home, make dinner, finish dinner, start to clean up and what do I see but a box of cookies. Take one out, take a bite and --
"What are you doing?" she screams.
"I don't know."
"We just bought those cookies for tomorrow." Tears now stream from her eyes. You'd think I was beating a puppy with a turtle. "What kind of animal are you?"
"I don't know. I just --"
"How old are you? Are you like a baby that just eats things randomly?"
"I didn't remember --"
"From an hour ago? Our special trip to the store?"
Sadly, no. I did not remember. Or, more exactly, I did not try to apply any memory or mental function at all. I'm sure my age does play a roll in eating the cookie, though not the way she surmised, and I guess, when it comes right down to it, I am some kind of treat eating animal.
I put the cookie with a bite out of it in a baggie and set it aside. I'm not sure why.
The Cookie Monster is real. And it's me.