These cookies aren’t very good. . . .

Each year, Donna and I host a Christmas Eve celebration for family. It’s always a smorgasbord dinner, exchange of gifts and a special appearance by Santa Claus. It is a relaxing and happy time.

A few days after one of those special days, I was grazing in the pantry — looking for goodies. I happened upon a neat plastic bag, festooned with ribbons and bows.  Inside were cookies made by one of my cousins. Hmmmm . . . .  Well, it didn’t take long for me to rip open the bag and shovel a cookie into my mouth. Chomp chomp chomp . . . .  Hmmmm . . . . The cookie was not very good.  I had another. Hoping to glean some nuance of sweetness. Or chocolate. But it was no go.

At that moment, Donna walked into the kitchen and saw me with the bag. I said “these cookies are not very good.” She looked at me like I was an idiot.  Arms akimbo, she shook her head. And offered “Scott. . . . those cookies are for Daisy.Hmmmm. . . no wonder.  I took another bite and then handed the rest to Daisy who sat at my feet.  Wagging her tail.   Maybe if I had put peanut butter on them . . . .