Personal Narrative Essay: Why I Believe In Cookies

After a long while of thinking about what I believe in, I finally found the solution. I believe in cookies. Well, now you’re probably thinking this is some kind of dumb joke and that I’m not being sincere. But, it’s not what you think. Now you’re more than likely waiting for some sort of symbolism about cookies and their delicious, crispy edges. But no, we’re talking real cookies, right out of the oven, fresh off of the cookie sheet. So, what’s so wonderful about cookies? It begins with intense basketball games and living with 8 other people and only having one bathroom. It’s about late night homework sessions and once having broken arms together. It’s associated with bank robberies and local shootings. It’s about fibbing, hurting, yelling, sweating, throwing and aching. All of this screams cookies. Humiliation-deserved evil or heart fluttering pride, toss me a cookie. Scrape, bruise or gash anywhere on my body, give me a cookie. Whether I’m ready to weep into tears or ready to punch, give me a cookie. In times of being really late making it home or getting first place in a competition, give me a cookie. Distressed about tsunamis and the weather, give me a cookie. We all get
We all need a cookie. . . or a lyric or a gander in the woods or a movie. We’re a stressed population. We need simple compensation and simple relaxation. We mess up, we blow up, and too quickly we grow up. Take time to master life, take time to appreciate. That’s the point of the cookie. Breakfast, midnight, supper, lunch, or a little refreshment, give me a cookie when I need it most. I don’t need a clergy, a get together, or any pain meds you may throw my way. I don’t search for admiration or throw my struggles on anyone else. Just give me a cookie, two if needed. I will quarrel through, grow stronger, and be apt to take my position on this earth. Yes, I do believe in