You can have your “McMansions” (a word I like about as much as I do the houses), your MTV “cribs”, your cathedral-ceilinged, three- or four-car-garaged, intercommed, automatic supersonic turbo twin-jet, push-buttoned, fake-paned-windowed, plastic-doored, Pergo-floored, vibrating wall-to-wall-carpeted monstrosities. I’ll take this sweetness over that saccharine any day:
Dough’t get the warm dark goo that is behind the nuts on your fingers.
I’m.
sorry.
Well, it could potentially get better – the cookie, the boyfriend, or both could be covered in ice cream. 😉
You are obsessed with those cookies!
Two questions:
Does that bakery know about all this free advertising? How are you not 565 pounds?
Also not shown: The gooey chocolate chips getting all over our fingertips. hmmm, how to clean them off?
You evil temptress, you. Hand over that cookie.
It is perfection, but I would humbly offer that if the leaves in the park were red and orange and the temperature an exhilarating 62 degrees, and maybe you had on some type of beret or something (not pictured, of course) it would be EVEN more perfecter.
Nail polish shade, please… Mack? Well-Red?