Sweet Bliss

I’m giving up on love.

Well, love of men anyway. You would too if you were me. Another holiday has come and gone without roses or candy or a weekend getaway to the tropics. Another year has passed without a man to remark, “Honey, your butt looks fine in that dress.” No cuddles, no kisses, no double-takes when I walk into the room with my breasts covered in chocolate. Love. HA! I scoff at romantic love.

I vow to give up live personal ads during weekly status meetings at work. No more desperate pleas for the affections of my co-workers’ brothers, uncles, and sons. Dating is a thing of the past. I’m giving up on all men for a deeper, more profound emotional experience, one that transcends romance and infatuation and lust. Today I remain true only to my love….of cookies.

That’s right, I said cookies. It’s true that cookies are not big and hairy with hearts of gold, and they don’t drive a Harley like the man of my dreams. They can’t rotate tires or shovel 18 inches of packed snow like it was air. They won’t ever buy me a ring….platinum….with five or six small diamonds flanking a huge three-carat shiner in the center, size 8 ½. No, cookies cannot put their furry arms around me or plunge my toilet. But they can be satisfying in sooooo many other ways. In some respects, they are far superior to male humans.

Let me reminisce. Have I ever walked past a mere man and drooled like a delirious St. Bernard? Have my eyes ever glazed over and my legs turned to lime Jello at the sight of his delicious exterior? No, in fact, it has never happened. Not even once. But just last week I happened across the following sale at the supermarket:

Oreos. Double-Stuff. Buy one, get one free.

I went weak at the knees and could scarcely breathe. No man has had this effect on me before! But a bag of creamy, dreamy sugary lard packed between two chocolate wafers….oh me, oh my! THAT is the stuff of Romeo and Juliet. Sampson and Delilah.

My love for cookies is so deep, so strong, that I am in danger of becoming a co-dependent cookie-holic. Girl Scout cookies are the most seductive. I know for a fact that they put something inside that forces me to want them, some secret ingredient that grabs at my taste buds and reels me in like a hooked marlin. Caffeine, nicotine, heroin, something highly addictive that I cannot resist! Mel Gibson could be walking toward me, winking seductively (as many men do). He might smell of expensive cologne or clean, cottony clothes. He might even whisper his affections as he walks past, but I pay no attention! I shove Mel aside without hesitation because straight ahead, as sure as the horizon, are the little green leprechauns selling Peanut Butter Patties in front of the mall.

Last spring I came to realize just how powerful my love for cookies was. I spotted them from across the parking lot, the evil elves waving their Thin Mints around like witless cheerleaders with oversized pom poms. Before I could stop myself, I made a beeline for the table and found myself thrusting money into their faces in a drug-like frenzy, as I cried and begged them, “PLEASE! I MUST….HAVE….THE COOKIES!!!” And I realized in pathetic desperation that this was the fourth time I had visited this particular table in one week. They might as well just crumble them up and hand them to me in a crack pipe. Like the deepest love of Anthony and Cleopatra, I cannot resist cookies.

And who could blame me? You have been in love, yes? You have had your heart shattered into a million pieces. I too have had my heart broken, by a man no less. His cruelty was not infidelity, he did not cheat on me or call me bad names or harm me physically. He didn’t even leave the toilet seat up. But he betrayed me once and for that I can never forgive him.

It was a rainy afternoon. I was returning home cold, drenched, exhausted from a hard day’s work, comforted only by the thought of a bag of Chips Ahoy sitting on the counter…and a cold gallon of milk in the refrigerator. Imagine the horror, the GUT-WRENCHING heartbreak and agony I felt when I SAW THE EMPTY BAG IN THE TRASH CAN!!! And to this day, he cannot admit his wrongdoing. It was for the best, I see that now. Like many doomed lovers of the classic era, like Sonny and Cher, we were better parted, a lesson learned the hard way.

Since then I have searched high and low for Mr. Right but sadly, he is nowhere to be found. So for now I will appease myself with something greater, something that won’t watch football all weekend long or pass gas under the covers. Something that won’t forsake me for a poker game.

For now, and perhaps forever, it’s me and the Vanilla Wafer. And may your love be equally as sweet.