C is for Cookie

To know me is to understand that I have an almost insatiable sweet tooth. As my husband has stated, "Slim never met a piece of chocolate she didn't like" and "I can't believe Slim doesn't weigh 300 pounds". It's understandable that he would state these sentiments aloud because the temptation to eat large amounts of sugary foods is indeed my biggest weakness. You can keep your salty chips, or your dollops of sour cream, your tabs of butter, I'm not really tempted by those things, but set a cinnamon role in front of me and the vacuum action begins, will power doesn't even enter the equation.

My husband is not immune to the desire for sugary substances, he just has a little more will power than me on most occasions. On his last grocery shopping trip he picked up a half gallon of chocolate ice cream and pre-made peanut butter cookie dough. This wouldn't be the first time he has made himself cookies in order to dip them into ice cream for an after dinner dessert. And he knows that these types of treats are likely to disappear a lot faster if I am privy to their existence. When I got home from work the other night, 2x4 was still awake, which was a special treat because he's usually asleep by the time I get home. The apartment smelled really good so I asked him what he had made for dinner, assuming that was the source of the aroma.

"Burger" He replied

"That's all?" I asked "Because it smells really good in here, and burgers don't do that."

"Yup" He answered with a sort of grin on his face. I thought about it for a minute.

"You made the cookies!"

"They're mine! Don't eat them!" He asserted. I kissed him goodnight, told him I was going to make myself dinner, and left the bedroom.

"Don't eat the cookies!" He shouted as I closed the bedroom door.

I proceeded to make myself some pasta, sit down and watch an episode of Lost on abc.com and for dessert had one cookie. ONE. This in and of itself is a showing of will power in its grandest proportions because who, really, can eat one cookie?

It was about an hour an a half later that I crawled into bed beside a slumbering 2x4. He has always had the enviable ability to conk out seconds after his head comes into contact with the pillow. So, by the time I came to bed he had undoubtedly been sleeping for a while. I cuddled up next to him, listened to his slow breathing and whispered that I loved him.

Then, a groggy, sleepy voice asked, "How many cookies did you eat?"