January 19, 2005
Area Woman Eats Entire Box of Cookies
This is a parody of the sort you see in The Onion, except that it all actually happened, pretty much as given. I was reminded of this at my lunch today at Legal Seafoods in Baltimore with friend Barbara Saffir, when we talked about all the items (potato chips, ice cream, sugary snacks) we can never keep in our homes because we would eat them nonstop.
Area Woman Eats Entire Box of Cookies
FELLS POINT -- Local writer Jeannette Belliveau was delighted to discover Wednesday morning that someone had left a box of Entemann's Soft-Baked Chocolate Chip Cookies on her breakfast bar.
"I can tell already, this is going to be great day," Belliveau smiled.
"These must be for everyone to share," she thought. Her housemates often left Twix bars, office party leftovers and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts in the communal area adjacent to the pet food containers.
At 10:45 a.m. she made her first visit to the cookie box, determinedly ripping open the perforated lines on its side, and took about nine of the scrumptious concoctions to help her focus while working.
Later she returned to the remaining three-quarters of the cookies. "These are probably 'stales' on sale at Sam's Club," Belliveau concluded. "It would be best to go through them. Then we can all check them off as not wasted due to excessive exposure to the air. And move on to the next consumables in order of expiration date."
By 7 p.m. the cookies were finished. They had darn good flavor for stales, Belliveau thought. She never bought Entemann's for herself, which enhanced the pleasure of rediscovering the delights of their chocolate chips on the palate. The free box seemed to have fallen from heaven like a granted wish.
The contented writer took great pride in having split up the cookies' consumption into four separate trips to the kitchen, showing unbelievable willpower for a Belliveau. Everyone had to know that a less self-controlled member of the clan would naturally plunge face first into a box of Entemann's and scarf it like a hyena at a fresh carcass.
She had definitely done the right thing, Belliveau concluded, given that her brother Jim had once said that chocolate was good to control obsessive-compulsive disorders. Her writing had proceeded most satisfactorily all day. This was good. Very very very good. Her mood became buoyant. Briefly she wondered about the anonymous benefactor but did not dwell excessively on the matter.
Later that evening, her housemate arrived in her office. "Do you know what happened to my boxes of cookies and doughnuts?" she demanded.
"Um, well ... the doughnuts are right here," she said gesturing beside her computer. In other example of self-discipline, she had only eaten four of the 12 cinnamon, confectioner's sugar and plain doughnuts, and those nicely spaced out. But she wondered if absconding with a whole box from the communal area looked bad.
Then, bewildered that the fate of the cookies wasn't readily apparent, she said, "I ate them."
"Those were for a party for Saturday night," Laura said.
"And you left them out in plain view on a Wednesday?" Belliveau responded, trying not to roll her eyes. "You know you can't do that to anyone with a disadvantaged Catholic childhood limited to one cinnamon twist a week after Sunday Mass."
An hour later, Belliveau related her day's odyssey from office to kitchen and back to her husband, Lamont, confident he would chuckle at to the humorous parallels between their impulsive pets, who would eat anything within reach, and herself.
After a lengthy pause, Lamont said, "What were you thinking?"
Belliveau shared her decision-making processes, smug about the clarity of her logic. Inner satisfaction suffused her as she analyzed and articulated each step with lawyerly precision.
Lamont raised his eyebrows in silence.
"OK, I wasn't thinking. I was eating," she said, feeling misunderstood, but confident her sisters would validate her actions.
