Just Eat The Cookie Cake
Grant Hope #175
Hello Charles.
What are you doing on this crumbly…crème brulée?
Oh dear Charles. First of all, this is a cookie cake. Can you imagine if I presented mother with custard? She’d start yelling “Burnt Cream? You are serving me burnt cream! Cream isn’t meant to be burnt it’s meant to be rich, like me.” At least with a cookie she’ll eat it so as to placate the peasantry.
I don’t know dear. If she’s so concerned with keeping up appearances at our wedding then why are we barefoot and sitting on dessert?
Charles. It’s only proper for the couple to get the first fruits of their marriage. Besides, this is the first time I’ve escaped my mother since I ran away from her because of a severe blustering of the brass monkey gutted my little heart so fast I let go of her hand in the hotel library and cried in the lift until I realized it was stuck and the doorman had to pry it open with a crowbar and I fell asleep dreaming I was in an icebox in the middle of Lake Windermere with sharks waiting for me so they could chomp my little hide. Dreadful I say!
Yes. Your mother is quite protective love. Well, off to start the marriage then. Why don’t you tell me another one of your dreadfully wonderful stories over a piece of cookie crumb.
Oh. This is why you’re simply marvelous Charles. It’s so nice to have someone that listens in silence instead of always being interrupted by my honkish ma-ma. Why, she hardly ever let me say a word after I got my first one out! She just went on and on for so long bragging to her friends that by the time I should be able to annunciate sentences and write papers for elementary programs she hadn’t realized she shut me up with all her incessant chitter-chatter. I can’t believe I’ve met such a strong silent type. Oh Charles. I’m ready to throw the bouquet and get on the road. What do you say?
Oh. Yes. Cake?
Absolutely you charmer!
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