I Like All Cookies

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
March 19, 2008

Submitted: April 27, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 27, 2008



The kitchen was small, compact yet wondrous. It was furnished with standard black-and-white tile flooring and passive baby-blue coloured walls. The refrigerator buzzed and the washing machine churned as the rest of the appliances waited in anticipation. The lifeless entities always did what they were made to do without complaint.

A rather plain looking woman scrambled into the room throwing keys and bags of groceries on the counter. She rubbed her head in a fruitless effort to relieve stress. A little boy followed in tow watching his mother with distraught eyes. He hated it when she was overwhelmed with attempting to make everyone happy.

“Alright buddy,” she smiled, shaking off her tiredness, “I’m going to make some cookies. Do you want peanut butter, chocolate chip or co-co nut?”

He took a dramatic pause to mull his choices over and then finally decided with triumphant childish enthusiasm, “I like all cookies!” and flung his hands into the air to accentuate the word ‘all’.

“Well pick one.” his mother pressed, displeased with his difficult answer. “There has to be one you like the most.”

“Nope,” he replied with a giggle, “I like them all the same!”

He watched as his mother made them. She stopped during the baking let him crack open an egg. He found it remarkably fun at first but then became mortally afraid that he had dropped eggshell into the blob of ingredients. She told him to stop being a silly goose and he was stricken with laughter over his first encounter with the peculiar use of the word ‘goose’.

He watched her make little balls of cookie dough and wondered why the cookies came out of the oven flat. She set the timer and got her child to start to work on his homework.


When she opened the oven not only did the heat make her eyes water but the sight of burnt-black cookies. The sight made insecurities and feelings of worthlessness bubble in her stomach. She swore out loud.

The child was hurt. His mother’s vulgar words struck him blind leaving bruises in the back of his eyes as salty water poured out uncontrollably all over his math.

“Baby,” she said meekly, “I’m so sorry. Mommy shouldn’t have used a word like that.”

“It’s okay, mom.” he stammered trying to comfort the woman whom had always comforted him. Then he looked up suddenly with a newfound brilliance, “My teacher says we should learn from our mistakes instead of getting angry or said.”

She gave out a weak laugh, “You’re teacher is a really smart man.”

“Yeah, he sure is.” he whispered, “Don’t worry about the cookies mom. I like all cookies, even burnt ones.”

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