OK, I ate it. Guilty as charged. I ate the last cookie, something I don’t often do. I know we both like them, so I usually leave it for my wife while she is leaving it for me. So, as often happens, one of us eats a hard, stale cookie or it gets thrown away. Done! Finis!
As I devoured the last remnants of mine, I pondered why I hesitated before deciding to snatch it from the jar. I mean, it’s only a cookie. It’s not like I just drank the last beer. Now that would be a travesty. Perhaps it’s because I don’t bake and she does, so I feel like they are her cookies and I simply have an invitation to share them, not finish them. But I doubt it. If that was so, I would never be able to polish off another meal, because I don’t cook either.
It has got to be deeper and darker then that. Something ingrained well within my psyche. Sinister enough to force conscious thought before performing the deed. Maybe a sub conscious holdover from my childhood, long buried. Was I disciplined for eating the last ‘something’ as a kid? Did I once display gluttonous tendencies that had to be dealt with at an early age. Or, does it have something to do with my desire to control my weight and the guilt that eating that cookie instills?
It could be any or all or none of the above. It may be a lot simpler then I am making it out to be. I am giving this way too much thought. In the end, it all comes down to why I think I ate it, and I think the only reason I ate the one last cookie is because there were not two cookies. Works for me.