Cookies for dinner.

You know, my parents may not give me any money or even acknowledge that I'm actually their child half the time, but let me tell you: they keep my cupboards fully stocked with cookies.

When I was a kid, I always thought that the best part about being an adult was going to be having financial freedom (just barely), watching movies with dirty parts (which is pretty sweet afterall), and staying up late (as a now-insomniac, maybe I shoulda been a little more careful what I wished for).
That stuff is all pretty good, but let's not kid ourselves: the best part about being an adult is eating whatever you want, whenever you want.

I think my parents (stepfather aside, as he had no part in my juvenile nutrition) recognize that due to the fact that my sister and I were deprived of sweets and delicious garbage-food as children (fucking vegans), we deserve a little payback in our adult years (either that, or they're planning on fattening me up so they can eat me).

All expanding-waistlines aside, I very much appreciate when they go down to the States and bring me back packages and packages of American cookies. Take it from someone who knows: Americans know their junk. They are amazingly good at taking a normal cookie, like an Oreo, and cramming even more sugar into it by using some sorts of coating or filling (and those Keebler elves? I don't know how they do it, but those dirty little elf-hands make one hell of a cookie). Thanks, America.

~sarah p.