Oreos

 

I have almost never eaten an entire box of Oreos myself. Almost.   

There was that one time though, in college, when I walked in on the current “love of my life” f*****g that skinny blonde freshman down the hall, the one who wanted to be an elementary school teacher so she could “mold young lives’” or at least that’s what she said at orientation. W***e. I think it’s her fault I hated all my daughter’s teachers. Anyway, I thought a pint of ice cream was too cliché for the deep and stabbing wound in my heart. I chose a box of Oreos instead.

I was mournfully committed to that box. For three whole days I could be seen carefully twisting each cookie from the filling that kept them together, imagining oh so poetically, or at least I thought, that this twisting and pulling was analogous to what that skinny b***h had done to me and my true love. Imagining that, like I was ripping the cookies from one another, dunking them in milk the devouring them so she was doing the same to his heart and mine. My Oreos and I made quite the tortured soul.

Then of course there was the time that I got fired. My boss was a heartless b*****d. He fired me after I had to leave early three days in a row to pick up my daughter from school because she was sick. Apparently deadlines take precedent over a child with the flu.

This time the Oreos became symbolic of my soulless ex-boss. It may have been more than a decade since the last time I demolished a box, but I still remembered how to put my emotions into those little black and white pieces of solace. I would twist the cookies apart, licking all the cream out of the middle and then place them back together then I would dunk them and eat them. I imagined that the cookie was my boss and the cream was his soul, so of course after creating a “soulless cookie” as I liked to think of them, I would promptly drown it in milk and rid the world of him. The Oreos became my means of revenge.

I don’t want to make it sound like I can only eat Oreos when I have minor tragedies in my life. I packed those sweet cookies in my daughter’s lunch through grade school. Three, to be exact, a peanut butter and banana sandwich, and a juice box every day until she went to middle school where she wanted to feel older and buy her own lunch. We would also watch movies with a box of Oreos and a tall glass of milk between us debating on which way was the better way to eat them. (She liked to twist them and eat the part with the most cream while dunking the other and I preferred, in moments where the cookie did not represent my sanity, to simply dunk the entire cookie until it was soft then eat it whole) I will never divulge how Oreos saved me from my secret past heartaches to her, she needs to find her own life analogies.

There is one last time. Tonight I sit alone with my thoughts, half box of Oreos and half a glass of milk with little crumbs dispersing themselves throughout it. I’m alone because I have just dropped my daughter, my soul companion for the last 18 years, off at college. This time it might just count as a minor tragedy. I went to the grocery store last night and bought this box, which I knew somehow that I would need to keep me sane and one other box. I decided it was time that I could pass on at least some of my secret comfort in these

cookies. I left her box on top of her books with a little note that said simply “These are so much cooler than ice cream.” I don’t know if she will understand or even really care, but I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture.

Tonight I’m eating a little differently. I break the cookie within my hand, into two separate halves, dunk and eat them individually. This makes a lot more crumbs than normal. I like to imagine that I can see memories of my daughter and I in the glass of crumbs. First steps, first bike ride, first love. All of those memories that mothers hold close from their daughters.

So it’s like I said, I have almost never eaten an entire box of Oreos myself. Almost.

Reviews

[Winter McPherson]

Good symbolism of the oreo cookie reflecting the hurts in your life. An oreo is something most everyone can relate to, as are the hurts of betrayals and disappointment.

[Dawn Jones]

Oreo cookies are heaven on a broken heart... I'm sure all of melo has seen me through one box or another. I, as a daughter, would have died for a gesture so beautiful from my mom... as it is the hot chocolate is the best one I have. I like this... it touches me. :)

[Lafayette]

Being an Oreos lover I love this it is very nicely done

[Miss Christine]

A clever write that takes the ordinary and elevates it...a "soulless" oreo, he he he...I especially like how you charm the reader with your humor and then give us something more poignant, but you never get heavy-handed with the sentimentality...

And now I need a cookie.