Mother Satan

Devil in a Blue Dress

When I was a child, I did not like Oreo cookies. Oh sure, I would twist those two hard discs apart and scrape the filling into my mouth. I wasn't totally crazy. Sugar is sugar to a kid, and any delivery system will do. But if I had my choice, I would pick oatmeal cookies. Soft, chewy, and chock full of juicy raisins.

When I visit my mom, almost every time, she tries to hand off some kind of treat to Mark and me. I think that she is trying to put some weight on Mark. This time however, I think Mom was working hand in hand with Satan. As Mark and I were getting ready to leave, Mom wheeled on over to the pantry and returned with a package of Oreo Cookies. She plopped them on the table, "Here, take these home with you." Before I could protest that I didn't really like Oreos, Mark grabbed them and thanked her. Fine, Mark will eat those disgusting cookies.

On Wednesday evening I saw the box of Oreos sitting on the counter. The package was open, so I took one of the broken cookies out and stuck it in my mouth. I don't know what Nabisco has done, maybe loaded them up with crack cocaine or some other addicting substance, because within two minutes I had eaten half a dozen Oreos washed down with a glass of milk. I simply do not remember Oreos tasting this damn good. By yesterday morning I had eaten another half dozen along with another big, cold, glass of milk.

"What the hell happened to the milk?" Mark asked later while staring into the refrigerator.

"I don't know. It got drank?" I mumbled with brown goo wedged between my teeth, "But I know one thing, you need to go out and get some more real soon." Because he surely doesn't expect me to eat the rest of those Oreos without milk to wash them down.

And the packaging makes it really easy to get to them.