Cindy
Droog
Read Cindy's bio and previous columns
December 31, 2007
The Cookie Monster is Everywhere
Cookies are everywhere.
It seems that lately they’ve infiltrated my life in ways I never
predicted they could.
It starts with my
current – and purely psychological, of course – competition with Cookie
Monster. You see, when I pick my son up from daycare, he’s always
excited to see me. He runs to the door, his little arms stretched open,
and that moment is – without a doubt – the highlight of my day.
But when he sees Cookie
Monster, it’s an entirely different story. First, his whole body shakes
with laughter. Then, he repeatedly yells “cookie man,” and is so
overwhelmed with happiness, that he often falls to the floor.
I seem to be losing
this matchup.
Cookie Monster and his
cohorts are also staging a takeover of my work meetings. Just the other
day, in true working mom fashion, I went to retrieve a pen from my bag
and the plastic letter “D” and number 4 from one of my son’s toys fell
out onto the table.
I felt like I was about
to lead an episode of Sesame Street, not a creative brainstorm on how to
present our latest advertising campaign. “Fellow coworkers, today’s
letter is ‘D’. D is for doggie, drum and, perhaps in my case, demotion.”
There are also those
pesky cookie crumbs. From the sheer number of them on the floor of my
family room and my car, you would think my son was on some special
cookies-only diet. In fact, he only gets to eat a cookie as a special
treat about twice a week. But when he gets one, he goes on the attack,
shoving it into his mouth with rarely seen resolve.
He eats other snacks in
the car and family room. Granola bars. Yogurt sticks. Cheese. Apple
slices. Yet even after a solid midnight vacuuming effort – even using
the extender tube to get into the difficult corners – I will inevitably
find cookie crumbs.
The same rings true
when I get into my car. Nearly every time I do, I can’t help but be
thankful that I no longer work in sales. Back then, it was a normal day
to have a passenger in my car. Maybe a client that I’d picked up to take
to attend a chamber meeting. Or a coworker with whom I was making an
off-site presentation.
Today, I find myself
avoiding inviting work friends to lunch for fear they might ask me to
drive. My pre-children weekly trips to the car wash have been replaced
with 20 extra minutes to spend with my sons, and I wouldn’t trade that
for the world. Or for the chance to take a cubicle mate out for a
sandwich.
It’s occurred to me
that cookies won’t even leave me alone when I’m innocently checking my
email. I don’t know how the computer experts of the world knew that
cookies were haunting me, but I don’t believe it’s a pure coincidence
that they named those little mini-stalkers that send your server
information to shopping web sites “cookies.”
How appropriate. Sure,
they’re harmless enough. But once you browse or click on something that
catches your eye, the next thing you know, you’re getting a daily email
from Yoakum County Gift Baskets. You waste time deleting it, first from
your inbox, then from your trash.
Your productivity is
less, and as a working mom, I’ve no time for reduced productivity.
Wikipedia says that
computer cookies are “simple pieces of data unable to perform any
operation by themselves.” Yeah, right. Just like the small, round treats
you eat, and the lovable blue monsters that are named for them, I think
there is more to all things “cookie” than meets the eye.
© 2007 North Star Writers
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