The Cookie Monster Has Returned

Sitting in my office working on some projects, I was suddenly surrounded by a familiar aroma. This surprised me because I had no idea what was happening.

That aroma was familiar, but I couldn't identify it.

I’m like that most of the time. My nose doesn't work quite like The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage. I don't smell many things, and what I do smell I can't identify. On the other hand, my wife can smell something three days before it happens. How she does that, I don't know.

Thinking about what I was smelling, it did have some familiarity to it. I know I smelled this aroma before and needed to find out what it was.

The more I sniffed, the stronger that aroma became. Then, I had a flash in my head. I recognized that aroma. The aroma coming from the kitchen was freshly baked cookies.

It's the time of the year when The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage spends a lot of time making cookies. You name the cookie, and she's making it. She can make cookies that I have not heard of before. That is her specialty.

I leaned back in my office chair, trying to figure out what to do next. It is the time of the year when she makes cookies, and I smelled that cookie aroma all morning. What is my next step?

Should I sneak out to the kitchen and see what she was doing?

If I do that, I am asking for trouble. Leaning back in my chair, I looked around my office and noticed one thing that could help. There was my coffee cup, and it was empty. All I needed to do was take my cup to the kitchen for a refill. I think that might work.

With a very joyful demeanor, I picked up my cup and marched to the kitchen, expecting to see those cookies. I contemplated what cookies I would see, but there is nothing like seeing them in person.

As I entered the kitchen, my wife said, "And why are you coming into the kitchen?"

I'm not a gambler, but I knew I had to lay my cards on the table, or I would be in trouble.

"Oh, my dear," I said with a smile, "I'm here to get another cup of coffee."

Looking at me with one of her looks, she said, "So, you're not here for any cookies?"

"Cookies? I didn't know you were making cookies today."

"You couldn't smell those cookies?" she said with a snicker.

I had to divert her attention, so I complimented her, "This is the best coffee I've had in a long time. I just had to have another cup. Thank you so much for it."

Looking at me, she said, "If I give you a cookie, will you stay out of the kitchen for the rest of the day?"

I must confess I would do anything for a cookie. So I agreed to this, and she gave me a fresh cookie. I smiled at her and said, "Thank you so much."

Basking in the aroma of that cookie, I headed to my office. What could be better?

Munching on that cookie was the best thing I had done all morning. I don't know how she does it, but she makes the best cookies in the world.

I finished that cookie and tried not to think of any cookies anymore. I remembered that cookie was given to me with the provision I would not come into the kitchen that day. Why did I make such an agreement?

It was hard for me to return to work; I could only think of cookies. I don't care what cookie it is; if it comes from our kitchen, it is the best cookie in the world.

Something happened that I wasn't expecting. My wife popped into my office with another cookie and said, "I gotta run across town to get something for my cookies. Here's another cookie if you promise not to come into the kitchen while I'm gone."

All I could see was the cookie in her hand. I nodded excitedly and took the cookie, and she left my office. It was a delight to have another cookie, and I munched on it rather slowly but enjoyably.

The cookie disappeared rather quickly, and my wife had been gone for at least half an hour, and all I could think of was cookies, cookies, cookies.

Getting up out of my chair, I slowly walked toward the kitchen. As you go into our kitchen on the right, a table connects with the kitchen sink. I noticed on that table piles of freshly baked cookies.

I thought of my agreement with her that I would not go into the kitchen, and I stood there, reached my arm around the corner, found several cookies, picked them up, and returned to my office. I think I got away with some more cookies.

Not long after that, I heard The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage come into the house and go into the kitchen. Then I heard her say, "Oh, the cookie monster has returned."

I then knew I was in trouble.

A scripture verse came to my mind, “Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17). Ouch! I think I know what to do. Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage, here I come.