Rachel Irving

Conversation with a Cookie.

Conversation with a Cookie.

Boring. You are the most boring and predictable little girl in the whole entire world. The most boring girl ever. Predictable and obvious. I bet all your friends call you Obvious Ollie.

My name is not Ollie.

It should be, oh yes, or Boring Bertha.

Stop talking now. You’re food. It is time to get eaten.

You see that's my point exactly only a truly boring individual, when confronted with a cookie, a lively conversational cookie, such as myself, would go straight for the eating option.

I was thinking, I'm just imagining this conversation.

Trust me. You aren’t, this is real.

If I don't eat you because of something I'm imagining, one of my sisters will definitely eat you instead.

You think so?

Do you need to ask? Cookie, you obviously don’t have sisters.

That’s true, no sisters, no loving mother or father. I’m all alone in the world, a forlorn, orphaned cookie.

What! First you start by insulting me and now you’re trying to make me feel sorry for you. If you did have sisters you’d be in crumbs by now. Bye-bye Cookie.

Wait! Wait! Wait just a moment. Only a fool would jump in and eat me without considering all the other options.

Okaaaay. Tell me please, I’m curious, really are there options other than eating you?

Sure options, of course, yes there are always options. A bright girl like you, probably very artistic. You have artistic hair you know, a smart cookie can tell a lot from a girl’s hair.

Oh Puhlease, you’re trying compliments now?

As I was saying, an artistic girl such as yourself shouldn’t waste the opportunity to paint, or draw, or even sculpt “Still Life with Chocolate Chip Cookie”.


Yes I can see it now, “A Cookie Through the Ages; a visual study of form and slow, slow natural decay, symbolizing both the ephemeral nature of all things confectionary and the underlying political significance of humanity's relationship with baked goods.” Whaddya think?

I think I’ve heard enough.

No! No, no, let me tell you a story. You like to listen to stories don’t you?

Not as much as I like eating cookies

Heh! Funny girl, so, so funny. Alrighty then, this is a story about a cookie.

Wait just a minute is this going to be one of those tricky Scheherazade deals?


Meaning like, you know how the Sultan was going to chop off Scheherazade’s head only she asked if she could tell her sister a story first, and then like, she told her story and the Sultan was all “Excellent story Scha-Scha, why don’t you hang around another night and tell another.” So on and so on, her head was never cut off, because the Sultan guy fell in lurve with her and her stories.

Yeah... No it’s not like that. Honestly, for real, the idea hadn’t even begun to cross my mind.

But it has now, hasn’t it?

Well whose fault is that? I’d never even heard of this Scha hairy whatsit chick. Listen, do you want to hear my story or not?

Go on then.

There was once a girl who went on a train trip. At the station before her departure she bought herself a bag of her favorite cookies.

I know this story.

No you don’t, you can’t know it, because it’s the first time this story has ever been told.

OK carry on then, but I bet I know it.

She sat down on the train at one of those seats with a shared table, and she started to eat her cookies.

I do know this story.

You can’t.

I do.

Go on then "little miss I know all the stories", tell me what happens.

OK. Right well she eats her cookie. Oh and can I just say, lucky her, what a wonderful straightforward life she has, just simply eating cookies, without some chatty cookie arguing with her. Anyhow she's eating the cookie then some weirdo, creeper, guy sitting across from her takes a cookie from her bag and eats it, and she's totally freaked out, can’t believe what’s happening, but she’s British and emotionally repressed so she says nothing, just takes another cookie, and then creeper guy takes a cookie, and so on till all the cookies are gone. Then the guy gets off at the next station and when it’s her turn to leave she reaches down to collect up all her stuff, and there, on the seat next to her... duhn duhn duhn...there’s her bag of cookies.

No, that was absolutely not my story. That’s a good story. That wasn’t how mine went at all. Wow! I mean, was the creeper, weirdo guy a wizard or something?

What! NO.

I mean how could they have eaten the cookies and yet still have the cookies, I mean, it’s the whole have your cake and eat it thing.

They were his cookies, stupid. He’d bought the same type of cookies as she had, and without realising it, she ate his cookies.

Ohhhh!... Right... Yes... I guess that makes sense. Anyhow so what have you got against the British?


You said the girl was British and emotionally repressed.

My parents are British.

Are they emotionally repressed then?

Not so much. Not all British are repressed, and you know what else about my parents, they eat cookies.

They can’t be real Brits then.

Why, because they aren’t repressed?

No because they eat cookies. Real Brits are civiliSed, with an ess not a zed, and only eat biscuits, digestives or garibaldis which they dunk in their tea. Never cookies.

Well my parents do both, cookies and biscuits, and so do I. Apart from the dunking thing. So anyhow what was your story?

What... Story?

You know. The girl... on the train... with the cookies.

Oh yeah right, there was this girl on a train with her cookies. They happened to be chocolate chip cookies, not unlike a cookie we both know rather well. She started to eat the first one, and she choked on it, and then the guy next to her pulled the emergency cord, and then the train driver braked really suddenly, and then the train jumped the tracks, and crashed into another train and everyone died, and, and, and the other train was full of kittens, and they all died too. And it was all your fault.

What do you mean it was all my fault?

For eating a cookie.

What do you mean "for eating a cookie"? Dude, you’ve been talking to me for the last like... forever, and I have not even had so much as a nibble. Argh! This can’t end well.
We both know I am going to have to eat you cookie.

You could maybe set me free.

Free, free a cookie. What would you do?

I dunno, I’d just hang out, maybe listen to music, you could come by, we could have a little conversation.

But I’m hungry.

Well why don’t you go and eat one of those apples that I saw in the kitchen? Much healthier for you, you won’t get fillings.

Alright then.

Really! You mean it. OK!


I’ll guess I’ll see you around then.

Yeah, bye then.

(...five minutes)

Wait, wait stop don’t eat me. I think maybe I know your sister.