You think you know sugar cookies. You think, “Oh sure, a simple classic, how good can they really be?” And then—bam—these cookies come along and destroy every preconceived notion you’ve ever had about what sugar, butter, and flour can become when they believe in themselves.
I don’t remember exactly what I was doing before I tasted them. Breathing, probably. But once that first bite hit my taste buds, my soul left my body and hovered three feet above the ground in a state of pure, buttery bliss. These weren’t just cookies. These were love letters written in vanilla and soft chewiness.
They were soft, but not limp. Sweet, but not cloying. There was this whisper of crispness around the edges—as if the cookie had gently high-fived the oven on the way out. And the sugar? It wasn’t just sugar. It sparkled. It crunched ever so gently between my teeth like a firework finale made of joy.
I don’t know who made them. I don’t know what deal they made with the dessert gods. But I do know that I briefly considered writing them into my will. Actually her name is Michelle.
I’ve tried to move on. I’ve had other sugar cookies. I’ve smiled politely at them, like you do when you run into an ex who’s doing okay. But deep down, I know the truth. My heart belongs to those cookies. And unless they come back into my life... I may never trust another...
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