You think I didn’t know I’d end up here in time out? Please. A kiddo like me, with a sweet tooth and zero impulse control? It was always going to shake out this way.
So yeah, Pops, you caught me: I stole the cookie from the cookie jar. But you already knew that, didn’t you? The crumbs in my bed sheets, the chocolate smear on my PJs—I don’t know, maybe I wanted to get caught.
But you gotta understand, this wasn’t just any cookie in the cookie jar, it was the cookie. The crown jewel of the snack stash. Everybody wanted it, but nobody had the guts to take it. Nobody but me. After you tucked me in for the night, I knew all I had to do was tip-toe just so down the stairs, real quiet-like. These Elmo slippers you got me for Christmas last year? I’ve been meaning to thank you.
So there I was, my reflection staring back at me off the jar. I knew I wasn’t no little kiddo no more. I knew I was going to steal that cookie. I lifted the lid, smooth and slow—no clink, no sound. The aroma of sugar hit me and something else took over. There was no going back to night-night. Not without that cookie.
So I took it. I took that cookie from the cookie jar. I did what I did and I knew what I was doing when I did it. Did I deserve a cookie? That’s for you to decide. What I know now is that committing a no-no like this, it sticks to you, no matter how much milk you try to wash it down with.
And that stench of guilt led to this whole thing being blown wide open this morning. “Missing cookie,” they said, all eyes on me. So I did what anyone would do: “Who, me? Couldn’t be.” I pointed the blame elsewhere, accusing my brothers and sissies—but like you and Mommy always say, you point a finger, three more point back at you.
And you’re right. The truth? It has a way of eating away at you when the sugar high wears off. And that’s when I crumbled, just like the cookie itself.
I lied. I stole. And now, here we are.
So what happens next, huh? No iPad for a week? Extra chores? I can take it. Because none of that compares to living with what I’ve done. Knowing that once you’ve tasted temptation, you can’t un-taste it. This was never about the cookie. It never is. It’s about the thrill. And to be honest, this wasn’t the first time I’ve done it, just the first time I got caught.
That’s how it goes: one cookie leads to two, and two? Leads to trouble. So yeah, I took the cookie from the jar. And you know what? I’d do it again.
But you know what else I know? The apple don’t fall too far from the tree, does it, Pops? Like father, like son, I’m told. And I got a feeling you maybe stole a cookie or two in your heyday.
So what’d ya say, am I free to go—or should I give Grandma a call?