Counting Cookies

Ginger's Grocery

“Who ate all the cookies!”

My eleven year old slams the cabinet door. It springs back open in response to the force.

“There are still some cookies left,” I say.

“There is one cookie left. A broken one.”


“There were eight cookies left after dinner last night,” she says. She reviews the facts like a seasoned prosecutor. “William says he only ate one. Dad didn’t eat any, and I didn’t eat any, either. That means that someone ate five cookies between last night and right now.”

Implication: That someone is you, mom.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say. “I bring all the food in this house. I earn the money that buys it. I shop for it, I put it into the cabinet, and if I want to eat every last thing under our roof, that is what I will do.” And sometimes that is…

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