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  • Writer's pictureD. Randall Faro

Me Want Cookie

Info on the web will tell you that the Cookie Monster was born in 1966, the progeny of Jim Henderson. But said Muppet character was predated by a birth in 1945. Mine. The likely first learned word out of my mouth was, “Mama.” It’s likely the next three were, “Me want cookie.”

If there is a cookie I do not like, I’ve never met it. Don’t try Googling how many kinds of cookies there are in the world. There are so many, your computer will likely crash trying to list them all. I could have (maybe should have) been a professional cookie taster, except I’d weigh six hundred pounds before getting halfway through the world’s offerings. So with cookies, as with most of life, moderation is the key. Of course, my concept of cookie-moderation might be different than yours. So be it. We all gotta do what we gotta do.

Part of the cookies-as-a-way-of-life syndrome for me is moderating the caloric effect of all those delicious bits with exercise. There is an average 200 calories in a 4-inch chocolate chip cookie. At my size and speed I burn 110 calories per mile running. The result is that eating five of those cookies means I have to run nine miles to maintain my trim figure. I must have run about a million miles in my life.

So what does this have to do with anything? Life . . . that’s what! We’re supposed to “suck the marrow out of life.” (Someone said that somewhere.) Well, I suck in cookies with all their scrumptious fats and carbohydrates. It helps make life tasty, enjoyable, delectable. Which is what life should be.

I’ll see you later. I have to go run.

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