The Last Cookie

To start the week off right, one of my coworkers cooks up a batch of cookies from a book of award-winning recipes. These treats are presented in an aesthetically pleasing stack on a golden plate in our editors staff meeting, then the remains are put out on a counter in the reception area for others to enjoy. Often, the pile is reduced to one cookie by early afternoon. The last cookie. It sits on the plate longer than any other. It seems no one wants to take it. It is like the awkward, pudgy kid, picked last for a playground game at recess. When I discover its sad condition, I quickly snatch it up. It can play on my team.

TANGENT 1: I am the last of nine children. C is for Cookie. That's good enough for me.

TANGENT 2: In my opinion, cake < cookie < scone < pie < any dessert with huckleberries.

TANGENT 3: Like my father before me, I like my pie in round pieces, hot or cold.