Once there was a delightful oatmeal cookie. What made this particular cookie delightful was more than the intrinsic delightfulness that all oatmeal cookies have. It was chewy, but not exceedingly so. It had substance, but not to the extent that it would be annoying. Most importantly, this cookie had a good sense of self worth, without being arrogant.
The cookie had established a life. And, being a smart cookie, it decided to find some others with which to socialize. This turned out to be a more difficult task than the cookie first thought. It soon learned that there were sub-systems within the cookie world. There were the Girl Scout cookies, the store boughts, the Christmas cookies, and the Snackwells, which were of a somewhat questionable descent.
The oatmeal cookie had a brief affair with a Milano, but of course it didn’t work out. To which a Oreo was heard to comment, “That’s what happens when a home made cookie tries to mix with a Pepperidge Farmer.”
This is a common sentiment in the cookie world. Store bought cookies think they are better than the others. “After all,” they say, “we have packaging.”
Stung by its recent failure, the oatmeal cookie began to lose some self worth. It would sneak out of the Tupperware at night and disguise itself with old, tossed out packaging – a remnant of a ziplock or a discarded scrap of cellophane. Out of the Tupperware, the oatmeal cookie lost some of its delightful chewyness. And the disguise didn’t fool anyone. Now it was just a dried up oatmeal cookie, wrapped in trash.