6

No More Cookies

I did not do too much today, so here’s an update to a story I posted last July, with some more juicy (er…sugary) details.

Today’s post comes from the archives of my Amherst days.

You know sometimes in life you just have to live a little. And other times just have to say “no mas, por favor.”

So, one Friday night, I was at Hillel doing the usual. That night happened to have had a particularly generous sponsor and something must have been happening on campus because there was hardly anyone there. And usually, after the main course, people filter out anyway. Usually, the food was edible, but not great, with some lame dessert, and then after dinner we’d jet over to Chabad for Round 2.

But that day, however, there were cookies.

So few people, SO MANY COOKIES.

Just sitting in brightly colored piles of sugar, in pink and green and brown and yellow. As the meal wound down, there were fewer and fewer people to eat the cookies, so they were gradually being consolidated until they ended up on one gigantic plate that happened to be near where I was sitting.

I know what you’re thinking; this can’t end well.

So, my friend Zippy and I were just sitting there, talking about something, I don’t know what. Every so often, one of us would reach for a cookie, and nibble on it as we continued talking, and then take another, and another. Almost comically, the pile kept getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller. At the beginning it was a small mountain of cookies, and then somehow it became just a mesa, and then a plateau. We kept saying that we needed to stop eating the cookies, but they were there, so obviously that wasn’t happening. Neither of us actually thought of getting up and moving the cookies to any of the other unoccupied tables in the room, or to the kitchen.

Then, someone came to the table asking for a cookie, and we turned to him/her in unison, sugar shock in our eyes and voices, pleading, imploring:

“Take them away! PLEASE!”

And that’s how I learned that you can have too much of a good thing.

2

Pie: The Universal Language

Today, I woke up and met Lumeng across the street at Bassett Street Brunch Club, only to find out that it was over an hour for a table. We were hungry, so we got in my car and drove out to the Hubbard Avenue Diner in Middleton. The wait there was also 40 minutes, but we got two seats at the counter within seconds because we are hungry graduate students and we do not care.

After brunch, we shared two pieces of pie, a French silk and a sweet potato pecan. I asked Lumeng how to say pie in Chinese, since she’s in my Chinese Drama class and is from Beijing.

Her answer?

“Pie.”

Some things everyone understands.