Attempted Murder: A Cookie Story

A few weeks ago, I was at work in an all-day meeting. To wrap up the session, the team planned to celebrate and acknowledge a couple of co-worker’s birthday. I was a little disappointed since I had to skip out early to get to my class. I was feeling a bit of a classic case FOMO, or should I say FOMOOF: fear of missing out on food.

For people who know me, know that I live to eat. That just sounded like I know, that you know, that I know… my point is that I really like food. Food is my life. It’s my favorite sport (side note: I actually hate everything sports, so I don’t even know why I used it as a reference); my favorite hobby, and basically one of the only reasons why I leave my house. I think you get the drift. As I was packing up my things to head out, my team just finished up laying out a beautiful confectionary spread in the lunchroom. The timing couldn’t have been anymore perfect. It was like the universe was speaking to me; the stars were in alignment. How could I resist not grabbing any of the delicious cavity induced treats on my way out? With a napkin in hand, like a peasant, I snatched a few of the limited-edition Oreo’s and bolted out the door.

So far, the day was going well. It was early in the afternoon and the sun was shining. I checked my gps and it was going to take me less time than usual to get home. I was feeling good in the moment and it felt as though I had a little extra pep in my step… or maybe the hyperactivity was just a sign of the early onset of diabetes? Who knows? As I was walking over to my car, I bit into the ‘limited edition’ birthday flavoured cookie and it reminded me of another childhood snack. I was feeling nostalgic until I bit the cookie and it immediately snapped in half and fell on the parking lot pavement. Now, I’m a no second rule kinda gal. None of that you have 5 seconds to magically blow off the germs type of bull. Nope, not happening. Wow, I’m really selling myself well over here. At least you know I’m clean – just not in a psychopathic way where I’m the go-to person to take care of a certain mess so to speak.

Anyway, back to the cookie. I wrapped my napkin around my hand and with a crab-like gesture, I bent over to pick up the cookie, because only a$$holes litter. And that’s when it happened. At first, I heard a clicking of a gear and then to my left, I saw the flashing of two big taillights, marked with a X. This monstrous pick-up truck was in full swing. With inches to spare, I popped my head up like a meerkat; frantically waving my arms to signal the driver. The good news is, death was avoided that day. The bad news is, I became a member of the a$$hole club. The moral of the story is: never eat cookies in a parking lot; they can literally kill you.


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