Cookie Cat! He's a Pet for Your Tummy!

I write to you from the depths of a brutal sugar coma. I'm not even vertical. I'm typing this on my phone from under a pile of covers. I'm actually drunk texting my blog.  This condition stems from cartoons and special occasions. I'll tell you about the later, first. Yesterday Dan and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary, so I decided I was entitled to break a few dietary rules. We went to a little Italian joint and I delighted myself with a bowl of pasta (I've been avoiding gluten), a bottle of wine (I've been avoiding alcohol) and a giant hunk of tiramisu (I've been avoiding gluten and alcohol and sugar). No regrets, dude. I would've died happily with my face in that fluffy pillow of tiramisu if that's what God had intended--it was exquisite.

However, the fetal position I now find myself in can't be blamed entirely on four years of marriage.  Earlier in the day, prior to my anniversary date, I had a fantasy baking date with my friend Laura (who incidentally made our wedding cake, so it was like our confectionery anniversary, technically). Aside from Laura's general savoir-faire and dessert wisdom, she has supreme knowledge of what's good the world of cartoons. Around the time I took medical leave from work and got super sick, she introduced me to Steven Universe-- a half human, half alien super hero adolescent with a show named after him. When I went into the hospital in February, I genuinely missed my friend Steven. I know that sounds very zombie millennial of me, but I swear this cartoon friend is so endearing, you would love him if you knew him, too! I felt connected to Steven after the very first episode of the series, in which he eats a freezer full of Cookie Cat ice cream sandwiches in an effort to hone in his super hero gem powers. The dude is stoked on cats and ice cream and his belly button is made of rose quartz--how could I not love him?!

Anyhow, back to my sugar stupor narrative. From the first time I saw Steven Universe, I'd get this hankerin' for Cookie Cats each time I'd watch an episode.  A few weeks back, I thought I might give in and treat myself to an ice cream sandwich, but as I stood in the frozen section of the grocery store, peering through the frosty glass, I realized an old-school rectangular sandwich just would not do. I needed the power of Cookie Cat. I left the store without any ice cream--if I was going to cheat my cancer diet, I was only going to do it for the cat.

When I have a dessert dream, I never let it die. I spent a lot of late nights googling "cookie cats" until I found this perfectly wacky YouTube video:

I texted Laura the link and told her we needed to make this fantasy a reality. Yesterday, we made it happen.

After a few chomps of cookie cat, I was buzzing from head to toe.  It goes without saying that I had already eaten my fair share of cookie dough scraps during the baking process, and had licked the spoon during the ice cream portion of the assembly.  Cookie Cat was giving me super human powers!

The moral of this blog post is that if a Cookie Cat gives you heart palpitations and you go ahead and carry on with your day by eating more sugar and alcohol at dinner time, you will wake up at 4am with a terrible headache and you will no longer have super powers. That is all.  The end.