(found by a plate empty but for a few sweet crumbs)
It wasn’t my fault Harry!
It was your fault. It was the world’s fault. It was everyone else’s fault.
I was just walking down the hall. What else are you supposed to do? I was walking down the hall, and I come into the kitchen, and I find this here plate that’s here, and – well – what do you expect?
Harry, it’s all your fault. It’s truly, truly – and truly even more – all your fault.
So I ate the cookies Harry. So what? What are you gonna do? What are any of us gonna do?
You want me to throw them back up? You want me to take the mush that comes back out and put it on the plate and form them into the little cookie shapes they used to be and then act like nothing at all even happened?
Maybe I’ll just bake a new batch. Maybe I’ll eat that too.
It’s your fault Harry. It’s your fault, mostly, and a little bit my fault. But it’s mostly yours. It’s almost entirely mine, but it’s also mostly your fault too.
It was barely even twenty four hours.
This was supposed to be the year. I know I’ve said that every year. But I had a really special feeling about this year!
I know I’ve said that every year too. And I’ve said that every year. Everything is tired, and I simply cannot stop eating cookies.
I was going to lose weight. I was going to marry Matt LeBlanc or what’s-his-name from the US Weekly that was on the tabloid rack at the grocery store last week. I was going to do it, Harry.
But then I saw these damn cookies sitting on their damn plate in the middle of the damn kitchen.
So what are you gonna do?
Well, Harry, I can tell you this – and I’ll tell you this right now – those cookies tasted goddamned good.