My mom was a home economics teacher at my old high school for more decades than I have been alive. For most of those years she taught child development, which meant that she embellished information in her textbooks by telling embarrassing stories about her children.
The one story that my classmates always heard and took joy in reiterating to me was the story of the time when I was five or six and got caught standing in a chair with my hand in the cookie jar. My mom had warned me numerous times–no cookies before dinner. But I wanted a cookie. And that’s what chairs are for, right?
Mary Bullock is still not feeling well. She has dark circles under her eyes, which concerns me. So instead of running the usual errands, we stayed in and made cookies today.
The gourmet kind. Of course.
As soon as the batter was ready, Mary Bullock started squeaking. EAT! EAT!! EEEEAAAAAT! But we managed to get them in the oven somehow.
And then we sat down. And waited.
I’m not going to say we waited patiently. That would be a fib.
Finally they were ready. I allowed her three cookies, which were really three parts of the same cookie. But what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, now will it?
When those were done, I said no more. And I thought she took this strangely well, until she came running back into the study holding another cookie in her hand. She didn’t even need a chair–I think she has Go Go Gadget Arms stashed away expressly for cookie stealing purposes. You never know with a girl like her.
At least she comes by it honest.