The Cookie Principle.

Posted: October 5, 2010 in Thoughtful thinking.

Today I had an interesting thing happen to me. I got frustrated at somebody over them eating a cookie. Yes, I know, it’s just a cookie and he probably did me a favor by eating it anyways. And I thought about this. But it didn’t make the frustration go away. It was then that I realized that I wasn’t mad about the cookie. Although the gooeyness and sumptuousness of it looked amazing, it was not the lack of cookie in my stomach that angered me so much. It was that he took MY cookie. I had laid ownership over that piece of pastry. When I walked in the house I immediately claimed it as mine and it, therefore, was my property and anybody who touched it was out-of-bounds. How could they DARE think about eating or even looking at my cookie? In fact, I even took the cookie out from the pile of lame ones on the plate and sat it off to the side to, unnecessarily of course, mark my dominion over the desert. My claim was so strong that I did not even have to voice my claim. It should have been universally known throughout the house that this cookie was meant for me and I for it. We had a connection this cookie and I. A marvelous relationship that would sweetly end with the cookie’s end for my benefit only. The cookie was aware of its sacrifice and was willing to give itself up for the good of me. Well, it didn’t go as I planned.

I turned around not a minute after I had finished heating up my stroganauf, also mine, in the microwave and the Precious was gone! Madness! I told myself. I began searching the kitchen looking for this horribly lost, circular, warmed piece of dough before the thought even entered my mind that the kitchen shark, my brother, who had been prowling the counters earlier could have had the audacity to even accept the thought in his mind to eat MY cookie. I would have dismissed the thought as laughable if he hadn’t of done this kind of thing before. And he has.

“Christopher! Did you eat my cookie?!” I said with more disbelief than anger. It was his expression that made me angry. That slow grin/smirk that slowly grew from ear to ear across his face confirmed my suspicions that he indeed had ended my affair with my sweet. My frustration astounded me. “WHAT?! WHY?!” I asked as my fist connected with the island counter sending the other cookies flying across the marble top. “That was mine!” Then he did something horrible. Almost too horrible for words. I guess my fit of anger over a small pastry he obviously did not appreciate as much as me was humorous to him. He started to laugh.

My face turned cherry red as I tried to hold in what disgusting insults my subconscious had prepared for moments like these. Here I was, fuming almost to the point of rage, and he was laughing at my distress. Rubbing salt into the wound of the knowledge that he had eaten this thing that I could never get back. And deep within his mind he knew that for desert I would have to settle for an inferior Oreo and not a delicious homemade chocolate chip cookie. This sealed his fate. I opened the can of “I can’t believe you would do such a thing” and poured “You are so selfish” sauce all over it. He continued to laugh in my face, still not understanding how mad I was. Finally I gave up as he tried to defend himself and hushed him. “I don’t want to hear it anymore Christopher.”

Looking back now I see that it wasn’t the cookie. It was my plans. I was looking forward to eating that cookie. It was a done deal. Mine, nobody else’s. And after finishing my bowl of stroganauf I would have a nice gooey, chocolate chip cookie to savor. It was his foot in the door of my “perfect” plan that made me so angry. He didn’t know it was mine. To him, it was just a spare cookie on the counter for the taking, which he took. To me, it was my reward, my prize. I put so much importance on that stupid little cookie that it almost ruined my night. It didn’t take me long to look back and laugh. How outrageous it was to get frustrated over the smallest things. Even bigger things. I think that we put so much emphasis on what our plans are that we overlap other’s wellbeing and step on people’s toes in the process.

It’s God’s plan that we should be so focused on and our continuing to love others. That cookie, at the moment, was more important than my relationship with my brother. How out of focus is that? There is nothing so big that should, or could ruin your love for somebody. Now, I still loved my brother through the whole ordeal. But it was out of my own disappointment and fault that I lowered him. Do we lower others when they unintentionally get in the way of what WE want to do? Maybe it always isn’t unintentional. Perhaps sometimes, our plans are foiled because they were meant to be. And maybe we should thank the foiler, instead of lowering them.


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