No Good Cookies

At the beginning of the year, our apartment was blessed to receive cookies and brownies almost every Sunday for 5 or 6 weeks straight. Since that time, we have been so fortunate as to receive similar offerings at a less-frequent, yet still quite pleasing pace. For example, tt was our blessing to receive such a gift last Sunday.

NOTE: We know that many girls think about whether to use paper plates or real plates when delivering such treats. Paper plates can be thrown away, while real plates guarantee an additional meeting when the plate has to be returned. Not all girls are like this, but many are. We just want you to know--we are on to you.

So keep this in mind while I set the scene for you. This is this one girl, let's call her Carol, although that's obviously not her name. Carol is a good friend of mine that I have gotten to know quite well the last few weeks. Because of our busy schedules and other circumstances, we would email each other often or talk online and didn't get many opportunities to see each other or do anything together. At the culmination of these emails, we were able to find a time one Friday afternoon to just sit around and chat on campus for awhile. The conversation lasted almost 3 hours. It was pretty good, although she informed me of her desire to raise a family in Utah (see blog post below). So it was good, but overall, just ok. The following week, which was this past week, I was super busy; I was swamped with both schoolwork and homework. As a result, I didn't respond to her emails and didn't really talk to her at all. However, in the midst of such business, I also came across another young lady here at the Y. We shall call her Lily, although that's obviously not her real name either. Anyways, I was able to spend some time with Lily, and it was just wonderful. As a result, I quickly found myself being drawn further and further away from Carol and closer and closer to Lily. By the week's end, Carol was no longer really on my mind.

Ok, well this afternoon while we were sitting around on the couch after church, we heard a knock at the door. As is customary, we yelled "Come in!" Nothing happened. "Come in!" Again--silence. "COME IN!" Usually third time's the charm, but not this go around. One of us got up to go open the door. No one was there, but at the foot of our apartment entrance was a plate of cookies and a note. Such an event is cause for great curiousness, so we all looked on in anticipation as it was revealed that the note was addressed to yours truly: me. Feeling flattered before I even knew who they were from, I quickly opened the note to read the attached message. It was from Carol. It said something of this sort: "Hey, I know you had a busy week, so I just wanted to drop these off so you could enjoy them while you relax . . . Hope to talk to you soon!" My heart sank. My roommate perfectly interpreted her actions: "Hey I don't know where you are, but I just wanted to let you know that I am still here." Ah! The thing is--I'm not still here. I've kind of moved on . . .

Needless to say, we enjoyed the cookies in terms of the taste and joy they brought to our mouths and stomachs. However, the overall experience was quite sour for me and caused me to feel very badly! I'm not exactly sure what to do, but I do know this: she used a real plate, meaning I haven't seen the last of her.

Oh cookies . . . oh real plates . . . oh BYU . . .

I guess that's life--darn, no good cookies!