This has been an especially heavy Christmas for cookies; it's a Cookie Glut, really. There's a tradition to pass out collections of homemade (or not) cookies to those you're happy/obligated to give to but not willing to spend much braintime figuring out something more personal. Like your landlord or your co-workers down the hall or distant relatives. Distant in the sense of not close as in, can barely stand being in the same state together. And face it, most adults we know seriously lack for nothing. Except cash, home equity and maybe a job or two in 2009, none of which I can grant. But I digress.
This year we received no less than five containers (large Tupperwares) of homemade cookies, all of them delicious and all of them welcome, but it's a bit much. I mean, I can't turn them down, I love them (esp. those Russian Teacakes, honey, you know those are gone) but the two of us can only eat so much, even if we needed to rack up another ten pounds in the next two weeks. But with no teens in the house now (they are both young adults and in home-spaces of their own), we don't have those extra appetites (or the extra friends with appetites) lurking around, ready and eager to perform cookie-sweeps at the drop of a hat. Lordy, lordy what I really need are five teen boys who can wolf down a very large platter of cookies over the course of a short afternoon. And then ask what's for dinner. You laugh. I have it on tape.
Usually, I'd send the extra goodies off with the Spouse to share at work but it seems they all are suffering from Cookie Gluts of their own. And when hardwood floor installers have trouble sucking up a bag or two of cookies, you know they are getting plenty on the side. In fact, one platter of cookies came from one of those fellas (or more accurately, his wife). I guess it's bad taste (ha, ha) to send them back to the source. Drats and dagnabit. Looks like the squirrels will get lucky this year.