“Claire wanted some help coming up with some new ideas for things to cover in chocolate.  It was a process.  A creative process.  You wouldn’t understand.  It’s an artistic thing,” Drew explains.  “Chocolate covered carrots were a bust, but we might have something with chocolate covered gummy bears.”

This still doesn’t make any sense.  I'm obviously missing something.

“So you guys ate some cookies and brainstormed.  What kind of cookies did you eat?  Were they undercooked?”

Maybe Claire has Salmonella poisoning.  Is that contagious?  Does she need to be vaccinated or have her stomach pumped?  I feel like I should know the answer to this since I have a kid.  What if Gavin eats some raw chicken and I don’t know whether to give him mouth-to-mouth or Pepto Bismol?  Is he even allowed to have Pepto?  And where the fuck is he getting raw chickens from?!

“Dude, I’m not Betty fucking Crocker or anything.  I don’t know what was in the cookies.  They were mocha coffee nut something or other.  Wait, maybe it was the nuts.  Is Claire allergic to nuts?  She might be going into anal flaccid shock,” Drew says nervously.

Oh my God.  It’s like he shares a brain with Jenny.

“It’s Anaphylaxis Shock, dumbass, and no, she’s not allergic to nuts,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“My uncle begs my mom for these cookies.  Seriously.  They actually STOP him from getting sick so this makes absolutely no sense.  My mom makes them for him every couple of weeks before he goes in for chemo.”

I stare at him blankly and repeat in my head the words that just came out of his mouth just to make sure I'm not hallucinating.

“Jesus fucking Christ! You gave her POT COOKIES???

I whip my head around and stare at George in disbelief.

“YOU ate a pot cookie?” I ask incredulously.

“I was in Nam,” he huffs like that's sufficient enough evidence this is perfectly okay.  “Where’s my grandson?”

I stare at him in wonder for a few minutes, realizing (not for the first time) that Claire’s father is the epitome of the saying “The man, the myth, the legend”.  While everyone else has been one step away from bath-salts-crazy, George has curled up on the couch and slept off his pot cookie high.

“Gavin is with my parents for the night.  They’re in town for a wedding and are keeping him overnight at their hotel so he can swim in the pool,” I explain as I tighten my hold on Claire and help her stand up.

“I’m hungry,” Claire announces to no one in particular as she suddenly regains the use of all of her faculties and pushes away from me.  Her eyes are bright and clear as she walks out of the office, squeezing her way past Drew, like nothing is wrong.

“Well, it looks like the problem is solved thanks to me.  Claire now has a new item to put on her menu and rave about tomorrow during her magazine interview,” Drew states proudly.

“She’s not putting pot cookies on the menu,” I tell him with a shake of my head as we all amble out of the office.  “It’s illegal.”

“You’re a real buzz kill, you know that?” Drew complains.

16. Son of a Face Turd

“I eat my poop.”

“Drew, I swear to God if you don’t stop playing with that fucking computer, I’m going to shove it up your ass,” I threaten as I finished chiseling the last bit of chocolate off of the walls of the shop kitchen.

Drew has recently learned how to turn on text-to-speech in Microsoft Excel.  Everything he types into a box on the spreadsheet is repeated back to him in a computerized voice.  He had stopped by my shop first thing this morning under the guise of helping me clean but instead has spent the majority of his time making the computer say random, stupid shit.

“I like to touch boobs,” the monotone, computerized voice announces.

“Boobs, boobs, boobies, boobs.  I like boobies.”

Drew sticks his head out of my office a few seconds later and smiles.

“Claire Bear, do you have a pot hangover?”

I growl as I throw the dirty rag into the sink and turn on the tap to wash my hands of the sticky mess they’d become since I started cleaning up the mess we made of the kitchen the previous night.

“After what you did to me last night, you’re lucky I’m not shoving a spatula in your eye.

I turn off the water and dry my hands on the towel next to the sink.  When I look back over my shoulder to throw another insult at Drew, he isn’t there.

“Claire has an angry vagina.”

I roll my eyes and take one last look around the kitchen to make sure I haven’t missed a spot.  In hindsight, I should know better than to eat anything Drew gives me.  He always looks guilty and says stupid shit though, so when he hands me the cookie and tells me to “Eat the entire thing or else,” I don’t think twice.  All I had wanted was a nice, quiet evening of brainstorming and keeping my mind off of anything to do with weddings and marrying the man of my dreams.

Be careful what you wish for.

I had woken up this morning with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I did something stupid.  I rolled over and found Carter sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me.

“I was just getting ready to stick a mirror under your nose to make sure you were still breathing,” Carter said with a laugh as he stood up from the bed and walked over to the dresser to put on his watch and stick his wallet in his back pocket.

“What the fuck did I do last night?” I groaned with a raspy, morning after voice.

“Which part exactly are you referring to?  Eating an entire pot cookie or redecorating the shop by painting the walls with chocolate?”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t KNOW it was a pot cookie until after I took the first bite and second…I don’t know.  I have no excuse for the rest of it,” I trailed off.

“If you knew it was a pot cookie after the first bite, why in the hell would you keep eating it?” Carter asked with a chuckle as I scooted up in bed until I could sit against the headboard.

“Why wouldn’t I eat it?  The damage was already done.  And it was a delicious cookie.”

Carter shook his head at me and sighed.

“Claire, you are only supposed to eat a little bit of a pot cookie, never the entire thing at once.”

He stared at me like I was an idiot and this was clearly something everyone knew.

“How in the fuck am I supposed to know something like that?  Do I look like the type of person who goes around eating pot cookies all the time?” I asked angrily.

“Everyone knows this.  I’ve never eaten a pot cookie, and I still know the rules.”

“The rules?  Is there a Pot Cookie 101 class I missed or something?  It’s not like the fucking thing came with an owner’s manual.  I was handed a cookie, and I ate a cookie.  Who in their right mind only takes one bite of a cookie and then puts the rest back for later?” I demanded.

“Someone who eats a pot cookie,” Carter deadpanned.

After I had showered and dressed, I left the house with an obvious bug up my ass.

And now my magazine interview is in an hour and the only things surrounding me are bad, hallucinogenic ideas – chocolate covered gummy bears, pickles, moon pies, M&M’s, every Little Debbie snack treat imaginable from Twinkies to Swiss Rolls, and a computer printed picture of Drew’s hand covered in chocolate.  Trays of chocolate covered crap litter the counters, and I berate myself for all of those hours we spent NOT coming up with a good idea.  At least Drew manages to frost all two-hundred cookies for the order that's being picked up today.  It makes my hatred for him go down just a tiny bit.

“The peanut butter on your cock is delicious.”

“DREW!” I yell again in warning.

“Sorry!” he yells back, trying to mask his giggles.

“Cock, the other white meat.”