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Archive for February, 2013

The mystery of the Mango Creme continued, using big burly warehouse men as guinea pigs. Men (manly men) eat anything, right? Raw cattle, sharks, harmless looking cookies of indiscriminate flavoring…

Men. Running. Taken down in the prime of life by harmless cookies!

Poor cookies. They were invented to bring joy. Instead, they brought tears.

Bad cookie, naughty cookie.

One man sidled up to Poppo and surreptitiously asked, “Could I take one with me? My girlfriend just has to try this.”

We have one cookie in orbit. We have nearly a full box of cookies spread over a warehouse full of men who turned their petite noses up and begged not to be given a second helping.

So then, how did these cookies go into national production? One man actually enjoyed them, and this one man ate three or four of these mysteriously flavored cookie shaped food items. And it is this one man who holds the key to why these cookies did not die in the laboratory: he’s the boss.

night,
dawn

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It was a tough cookie to follow.  It was a tough cookie to describe.  It was just a plain tough cookie. 

In order not to incriminate the makers of this cookie, all I’ll say is that the flavor is Mango Creme. 

Me: “Ooh!  A new cookie?  How exciting!  Let me try it!”

Mumsy Dearest allowed me to taste-test the new cookie, Mr. Mango Creme.  Daughters are congenial guinea pigs. 

I sniffed it, as any good connoisseur would do. 

What a confusing cookie.

I bit it.

That didn’t help.  I was still confused by the nature of this cookie.

I let Mumsy Dearest smell my cookie.  Please, smell my cookie.  Explain it to me.  She sniffed.  She thought it over.  She thought hard.  She let me finish eating my cookie.  And then she said, “It reminds me of my suntan lotion.”

I’m a Coppertone girl, usually, so I didn’t agree right away.  Besides, what an awkward assessment.  A cookie tasting like suntan lotion smells?  That must be a put-down.  Yes? 

We separated, Mumsy Dearest taking away the confusing cookies, and I taking my traditional cookies.

After dinner two days later.  (As a family, we’re not known for our obsession with dessert.  So yes, it is conceivable that two days could pass before an open box of cookies is tested.)

Mumsy Dearest called me.  “I couldn’t finish it.”

“You couldn’t finish what?”

“Guess.”  She’s laughing and she has the bright voice of gloat and glee mixed with hilarity. 

I guessed several random things, all foodstuffs, but never hit on the topic of conversation: the mystery cookie.  Once the subject had been established, we turned into the realm of scientific discovery.  She posited that this was not a pleasant cookie.  I re-instated my view that it was the weirdest taste ever.  We needed a third, impartial party.  Poppo.  Mumsy Dearest held that the cookie still reminded her of her suntan lotion and she could not eat what she lathered on her skin.  She passed the phone to Poppo and asked him to tell me what he thought of said cookie.

“Well… the taste begins before you bite it.  It really smelled strongly.  Coconut.  You can taste the smell.  But then you bite it… and… I wasn’t sure if I liked it or if I hated it.  Your mother gave me two cookies.  I ate the one.  I bit it then smelled it then bit it.  I just couldn’t decide.  I might hate it.  Your mother was going to throw the cookies away, but she decided I should take them to work tomorrow and see if the warehouse guys will eat them or not. 

“I still have my second cookie sitting here.  I decided to hold off… but let me try it again.” 

While my father sniffed and bit and sniffed again, Mumsy Dearest went through the cupboards until she found last summer’s Tropicana suntan lotion. 

Poppo: “Yeah, I just don’t get it.  I’ll sleep on it.”

Mumsy Dearest: “It smells just like this.  It’s the same smell.  I wonder why no one noticed?  How could they go into national production without someone noticing?”

Poppo: “Hmm.  Yeah… it doesn’t smell like the suntan lotion right off the bat, but the second sniff.  Yes.  That’s definitely the same base as the cookie.  Yes.  Definitely.  I wonder if it tastes the same?”  Smacking lips.  “Yep.  That tastes just like the cookies.” 

I will be selling my mother to any cookie companies who need someone to say: No, don’t do that.

night,

dawn

PS: Poppo didn’t actually taste the suntan lotion.  But over the phone, it’s more brilliant to pretend you did.

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