Cooooookie, Cooookies!

Ever since we added a garage to our house, Chris and I (and especially Chris) rarely use our front door. Usually I use it only to get the mail in the afternoons, but yesterday night as I pulled into our driveway, I noticed that our screen door looked slightly ajar.

Sometimes delivery people leave packages between the screen door and our front door, so after I parked the car in the garage I went upstairs to check the door.

Our screen door has been broken for a while now, so when I opened the front door, I realized it was ajar only because, well, it was busted.

But there was still a package on our front step, just outside the screen door.

The package was from Hope’s Country Fresh Cookies and had no return address on it, other than the Hope’s Cookies logo and address. The address was one in King of Prussia, where my sister-in-law lives, so I assumed the package was from her.

I put the package on the floor for a minute. Flacko came running up to the box and sniffed it.

“Don’t pee on it,” I warned him.

“Chris! We got a package!” I yelled. I tried to pull off the packing tape, but it was on too tight. “Come open it!”

Chris came upstairs and looked at the package.

“Is it from your sister?” I asked. “It’s from King of Prussia.”

“I don’t think she would mail us something,” he said, as he used a knife to cut through the tape. “I mean, we’ll be seeing her this weekend, so she would have just given it to us then.”

He got the box open, and styrofoam peanuts and red and green confetti spilled out when he reached inside for the tin of cookies. While Chris picked up the packing material, I examined the card on the tin.

“Happy Holidays to you and the doggies,” I read. “Thanks for putting up with our crazy family and having us over; hope this comes in handy at the next poker game! Best wishes for the New Year.”

There was no signature.

“Must be your family,” I said. “Maybe your aunt? I mean, your family’s crazy, right?”

“Nah, I think it’s one of your cousins,” Chris said.

“It couldn’t be; we never exchange gifts unless we see each other.”

“Got to be,” Chris said firmly.

One lone styrofoam peanut fell out on the floor. Flacko, who’d been circling our feet anxiously, pounced on the peanut. It must have smelled good from the cookies, because he tried to run away with it so he could eat it privately. But since we generally don’t like to let our dogs eat styrofoam, I grabbed it from him before he could get more than a few steps away.

While Flacko gave me a dirty look, I dialed my cousin Terry’s phone number. “If they did give it to us, Terry will know,” I said. “She’s the responsible one.”

Terry’s cell phone usually had no service, but today I was in luck. After about five rings, she picked up the phone.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hey, Terry, it’s Jane. Did you send us cookies, because we got some and they don’t say who they’re from.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said.

“Maybe your parents did?” I wondered.

She hesitated, and then said dubiously, “I don’t think my parents know how to order cookies online.”

“See, it’s not them,” I hissed at Chris.

“But maybe it’s Diana,” Terry continued. “She does stuff on her own, you know.”

“All right, I’ll try her,” I said. “Thanks, Terry.”

I hung up and called Diana. Due to the strike in New York, and a recent web post of hers that had mentioned it now took her an hour and a half to go 3 miles, I wasn’t expecting her to answer her cell phone, and she didn’t. So I left her a message about the cookies (”did you give us cookies? If yes, then thank you. If not, ignore this message”).

Diana called back later, after I’d consumed three cookies, all delicious.

She confirmed that she did indeed send us cookies, and was surprised that her name wasn’t on the card at all. I thanked her profusely and she said, “Are the cookies any good? Because I ordered them Sunday, and the website was…”

“Sucky?” I asked.

“Just not very professional,” she said.

“The cookies taste homemade,” I said. “They were a little frozen from being outside all day, but still yummy. I’m just glad I found them, and that they didn’t spend all night outside!”

It occurred to me later that I could microwave the cookies to heat them up a little bit, but I was too busy - too busy dipping my hand in the tin of cookies.

Some people might say that 6 cookies in 2 days is too many (or “2 many,” if some people are Prince), but Diana would say, “If you’re not sick, keep going.” And so I did.

Posted by: ssjane | December 21, 2005 | 4:59 pm
Posted in: This Life