There are these things in the world called temptations. I don’t know about other people, but for myself they pretty much boil down to my wife making entire stockpiles of cookies and leaving them in the apartment for seemingly no other reason than to judge me based on the amount missing when she returns. I don’t really know what her end goal in this entire thing is, but I can tell you it isn’t to track my movement around because I am pretty sure that if I ever dropped a crumb I would eat it off the floor. My wife is a good baker.
It shouldn’t really come as a surprise to anyone when I say that the cookie process has pretty much taken over the kitchen and living room, one room to prep the other to cool and force me to walk by endless times during the day. This is one of those things that is great for anyone who doesn’t live here, as they just get them in the mail or when they come over, but for me it is an issue; if I keep eating them she will keep making them and I am pretty sure that is how you turn into the world’s fattest man. My wife doesn’t do anything that she can’t put all of her soul into, which is great and encouraging to be around until you start running out of places to eat dinner.
It is like there is something, possibly robotic, that goes off in her the moment that we have had frost a couple of nights in a row—something that compels her to bake. I am sure that if I didn’t basically strap her to the bed every night before she went to sleep she would probably wake up as the sensor went off and start for the kitchen, glowing eyes and all. Don’t get me wrong, I love eating the little butter based delights, but I also fear being moved around by a forklift and having to widen all of our doors.
I think I might be better with everything if she just had the same compulsion more than once a year; because who doesn’t like random cookies. This would probably also help with my debilitating illness of always wanting to eat cookies as they would be less of a treat and more of something that I couldn’t get out of my house. The same thing started happening when my mom began handing out fudge by the square foot, no one I knew wanted to take fudge from us anymore. I am sure that is why I lost my last job, because they were just eager for me to stop bringing that stuff in.