If I am Not to Blame, Then Nobody is!

My favorite TV show character is Cookie Monster. The irony is I blame my cookie addiction on him. Day-after-day I would sit in front of the TV and watch him show no self control as he ate plate after plate of chocolate chip cookies. Even at a young age I noticed that he did not gain weight. The message: Cookies were not fatting.

I would salivate as I watched Sesame Street at nine in the morning on PBS. After the show was over I had to have my fix. I would tip toe into the kitchen making sure the coast was clear. I would get our old white chair that did not have even legs; making it very unstable. I would stack a pile of phonebooks on top of it because the chair by itself would prove not high enough to reach the cupboard that held the “good stuff

As I would drag the chair across the kitchen floor I would always curse my mother for putting all the good food up high. I promised myself when I became a mom I would make sure the good tasting food was where my kids could reach it. With my wobbly chair and the phonebooks in place I began my climb up the chair I made it to the chairs ledge. There was only an inch or so to grip my toes on. I’d better get on with this; up to the first phonebook, and up I went to the second. The books slid as I stepped from one to the other; I forgot that phonebooks were so slippery. As I climbed to the top phonebook the chair started to sway. I reached out to catch myself on the counter, but I was higher than the counter and lower than the cupboard. I balanced with all my strength; after all this Operation Cookie! As I found my balance on the leaning kitchen tower that I constructed I reached for the cupboard, but I could not quite reach. “If only we had another phone book.” I said out loud in my kid-spoiled-pouty-I-want-it-now voice. At this point I should have retreated, but I Really Wanted a Cookie! Determined I got up on my tippy toes, and with the tips of my fingers, holding my breathe I managed to will the cupboard open. Then I took a leap of faith, and I mean literally. I jumped off my gerry-rigged platform Indiana Jones style, and somehow managed to barely grasp the cupboard’s edge. (By the way I scraped and bruised my chin, and bit my tongue. How come we never see Mr. Jones do that?) Nonetheless my mission had to continue. I saw the cookies in the cupboard; I took my free hand and reached in and grabbed my reward. Bingo! I had them; I could feel the plastic crunch sound of the Oreo container. I had succeeded! Now how to get down with my treasure. The getting up part was easy, it would be the getting down that would prove to be a challenging part. With my feet dangling in the air I began to search out for the phonebook staircase. No luck, because I forgot to mention that when I jumped for the cupboard the chair and the phonebooks had toppled over. I thought quickly, if I could just swing my legs and find the counter; I could land on it and get down from there! The only problem was: as a young child I wasn’t coordinated enough to swing my feet to land on ANYTHING whatsoever! But I did not know any better, so I tried. I failed. The Oreos and I came crashing down to the kitchen floor. I can still remember the feeling of the wind being pushed out of me. But only that wasn’t the worse part. Right then my mom came into the kitchen and started in on me about the chair, the phonebooks, the cupboard door, and the big thud. It was this time in my childhood that I decided that if I had a kid that I would not come in the kitchen and scream at them if I saw phonebooks, a chair, and my child on the ground. I would be nicer. But this still wasn’t the worst part. The worst part-Yup you guessed it; she saw the cookies and put them back in the cupboard. All that work for nothing. Another mental note: When I became an adult I will not have a white wobbly old chair; instead I will buy a proper step stool. I blamed being put on restriction and the headache that followed on Cookie Monster.

I also blame my cookie addiction on the blue guy. He rotted my impressionable young mind with the images of him enjoying himself (Om nom nom nom nom.) while he ate plates full of cookies with wild abandonment. Those images alone lead me to crave chocolate chips and complex carbohydrates. Cookies are my worst addiction. (Nobody bring up Starbucks as I am trying to prove a point!) I truly believe in my heart that I would be a size 2 if it weren’t for Cookie Monster. He was my bad influence. Because of my newest theory I no longer have to take responsibility for my weight gain. All of my bad decisions and habits rest on the conscience of someone else, which makes me free to blame everything on someone else.

I have spoken to Cookie Monster’s legal representatives and unlike McDonalds he feels bad about my circumstance. (After all he is a preschool toy and he is supposed to teach kids to be honest.) He has agreed to pay me proceeds out of his yearly salary, which thrilled me beyond words. (Jackpot) As is it…It turns out that Cookie Monster is paid in strictly in cookies. It figures. Now who can I sue… (I mean blame) for my weight problem, because it feels much better to blame …( I mean sue) others!
PS…
Cookie Monster if you are reading this; please know that you are my hero and still my favorite!