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The “kiss me” cookies

February 19, 2010

Alternate title: When Laura tried to woo a man with oatmeal raisin cookies and failed.

Last May, I signed up to take the first course in the licensure and master’s in education program at an in-state university about 20 minutes away from where I live. At this point, I was still uncommited about the whole thing and was wondering whether I was making a big mistake and consequently wasting a lot of time and even more money. This class was set to meet every Monday, Wednesday, AND Friday night from 7 p.m. to 10:05. In the words of SN: “Woof.”

When I realized just how long the commute was going to take me that first Monday (1 hour at best), and arrived at class 10 minutes late (I’m one of those people who would rather die than show up late somewhere, so I was extremely embarrassed at my tardiness), I was in a hellish mood. I was scowling at my classmates, sweating from my sprint across campus, annoyed at my bumbling professor, and pissed that I would be spending the next six Friday nights in a tiny basement classroom with a bunch of prattling, egotistical teacher wannabes.

And then, Greg* walked in.

I think my world turned on its axis when he stepped into the room. He was business profesh, with huge blue eyes and adorable swoopy brown hair. He had freckles and a briefcase. He looked at me and smiled, and I blushed. Dream. Boat.

I spent the next 2.5 hours not-so-inconspicuously staring at his perfect everything. Nose, teeth, fingernails, socks. This was love at first sight. Class every MWF immediately seemed like not enough. I needed more Greg in my life. Could we please meet every day, for the rest of time?

Greg sat next to me on class 2. Score. First, I tried to set up run-ins at the vending machines on our 10-minute class breaks. I, too, would suddenly find I needed to eat some Doritos. I would hang around after class when he did under the guise of asking the prof a question that I conveniently forgot when it was my turn to query. I began flirting with Greg the only way I know how, which includes incessant teasing, bullying, and playground-style mockery—mostly about his handwriting, skater shoes, and bad jokes. He took to it well, and I started to learn all about him. Greg had two master’s degrees from ridiculously prestigious institutions; he up and moved to a town out West to ski and figure out his life; he had a huge family, and taught English at a local school; and the kicker: Greg was opening a charter school in a city far away and would never be back. He was moving the day our class was finished.


Greg mentioned grabbing drinks sometime after class. I was elated. One time we shared an umbrella to our cars. So sweet! I rigged some sort of set up where he, who parked in a garage close to our classroom, would drive me to the far off lot where my Scion rested. One time we were discussing existentialism and he was talking about how he likes to think about what he would do in scenarios different hypotheticals—“what if I had 10 seconds to live, 10 minutes, 10 days, 10 months?” He told me that if he had 10 seconds to live he would “kiss that cute blonde in class he always had a crush on.”


I’ll never know.

One day I made my famous oatmeal raisin cookies and told Greg if he ate one, he might fall in love with me.

Hint: Don’t use that line on boys. Even if you bake like I do, it doesn’t work.

However, he did agree, and said it was one of the best cookies he’d ever had. Ladies: Even if the way to a man’s heart is rumored to be through his stomach, make sure he’s not moving away in five days before you try this out. It will end with devastating results.

The “kiss me” cookies failed. We never got drinks (kid was moving his stuff gradually every weekend), and I never got a kiss, or even a real goodbye—we walked out on the last class in a group of students and that was that. A mere wave. We exchanged a few e-mails, but that soon faded, too.

At the horrible, humiliating thought that Greg should ever find this blog, I will simply say that I had a huge crush on you, and wish you hadn’t moved away to save the world. I also wish you had had more than one cookie, because maybe, just maybe, if you had another, you would have canceled your move.

At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.

Because honestly, those cookies are damn good.

(*Names have been changed to protect the unassuming.)
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