A Mexican Cookie Assortment and Me.

So the other day we decided to make the trek to the OTHER town to the crazy super discount store. There is no good way to describe this grocery store. For one thing, everything in it is dented. I mean really dented. One time, I shit you not, they had those giant bags of ketchup, you know the kind that are supposed to fit inside dispensers with the word ketchup written on the bag in sharpie. In case there was any doubt. Also, the place has bare concrete floors, metal shelving and none of the price tags match anything. For example, the bottles of weird ass shampoo with the crumbled bottoms will be labeled 'seafood 1.99.'

Which basically makes it the greatest grocery store ever.

Except for the bit where they play religious music all the time. Also the whole place is staffed by Mennonite women and girls, in their traditional plain dresses and those weird hat bonnet things.

No really, I am not making any of this up. This place is real and I bought a Mexican Cookie Assortment there.

Anyway. We were about done shopping but then Scott remembered that he wanted to check something in another section in that winding maze of overstuffed shelving and tired looking poor people, and I decided to wait by the cart, when my eyes trailed down an large shelf filled with chips, tortillas, jam, and popcorn to the bottom shelf. To where there sat something called a cookie assortment. From Mexico.

 This.

 I must have picked it up and put it back on the shelf at least three times. There was part of me that really knew that this thing was not good for me, another part that wanted to stuff cookies in it's a face, a small part that knew this was a bad idea, and a really big part that hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and was really aware of the fact it was like late afternoon.

So I get it home and we have dinner and I have a few cookies, and immediately I am struck by the fact that none of these things taste, well normal. Look, okay growing up in America as I did, when I see a frosted sandwich cookie with white filling, I expect it to taste like bland vanilla and chocolate. Not lemons. Never lemon. No. Also they had those sugar rectangle things, that were flavored, like, strawberries, but not the super fake oh-my-god-have-you-ever-had-a-real-strawberry flavor, but more like this is like you took all the wrong parts of the strawberry and stuffed it into this cookie. I swear that I could taste the strawberry seeds in those bitches.

 All of this is a flavor lie.

Yet, I was pretty okay with it on the whole. I was broadening my shitty prepackaged cheap ass cookie horizons. I was being cookie multicultural.

So fast forward to the next morning. For whatever reason, I woke up thinking that the whole world could just fuck itself. I was pissed the shit off at everything ever. Which meant that I got up, ate breakfast and then proceed to stuff cookies in my face like I was in some sort of self hatred based eating contest. Which seemed to help. Until afternoon, when my entire intestinal track got word of what I had done.

And it was not happy about it.

At that point, huddled into a bloated crampy ball in front of my computer monitor I found myself wondering what on earth made me think that eating a shit ton of low priced Mexican cookies was a great idea.

At that point, I decided that the Internet was not doing enough to distract me from the internal war going on between the forces of Holly's innards and the Mexican cookie troops, so I decided to reread the Hunger Games.

At this point, I probably should not have trusted any more of my decisions, because if there is one book you should probably not read while bloated all to shit on fake ass south of the border cookies, it's the Hunger Games.

Which is how I ended up having some sort of cookie based mental breakdown in the bathroom while clutching the Hunger Games.

Suzanne Collins would be so proud.*

*Author of the Hunger Games.