The Dirt Field

I’m obsessed with the gingerbread cookies that Starbucks has this season. From their chewy, spicy-sweet goodness to the exquisite deliciousness that is the frosting apron, I am completely smitten. I start thinking about getting my gingerbread cookie from the moment I first awaken, spend the entire drive to work debating about whether or not today will be the day I say no, and then inevitably surrender by early afternoon at latest. Those cookies are in the back of my mind all day, and when I’m finally walking back to work, cookie in hand, I am satisfied only until the first bite when I start wondering if maybe I could possibly splurge and have one more. Or five.

The problem being that eventually, Starbucks will no longer carry these seasonal little wonders, and this will happen with no warning whatsoever. I will go in there one afternoon, mouth watering and lips quivering, only to be told that they are sold out and will not be getting any more. It will be devastating.

Logic would indicate that I should perhaps stock up now, but I know myself and I know that if I purchased seven cookies, they would last for exactly seven minutes. And as the last crumb was being licked off my desk, I would only be thinking of the eighth cookie, pining for the eighth cookie, desperate for the eighth cookie. So each day I buy only one, and steel myself for the day where there are no more to be had. And on that day, I will reach across the counter, grab the Starbucks employee by the hair, and shake them violently until they find me another gingerbread man.

UPDATE: I returned home this evening to find that my best friend (and yes, she was even before this) had left FOUR gingerbread barista cookies at my house even though she already is guaranteed to be given my entire shoe collection in my will by virtue of the fact that nobody else wears a size 19 shoe. Caitlin, thank you. You’re the greatest.