Happy National Cookie Day! (The U.N. Bashing Edition)

"Yey!" says Eldest Raggirl, "It is National Cookie Day!"

She is looking at the school-lunch calendar. She is happy, and does not see my grimace of remembrance. It is all just a fake -- National Cookie Day -- a sad reminder to those in the know of America's continued refusal to ratify the United Nations' International Cookie Treaty, and dogged insistence to, once again, "Go It Alone."

Ragspouse, however, opposed to treaty, and did not miss the grimace. "Do you want some foreign dictator in some non-Democratic third world country telling your daughters what kinds of coookies they can eat?"

"Not in front of the Raggirls," I say. But there is no escaping politics at the breakfast table this morning.

"Is good ol' American chocolate chip cookies not good enough for you?"

"Coookies are not American," I point out. "It comes from the Dutch ''koekje' -- little cake."

Ragspouse sneers. "Dutch cookies. Feh. The Netherlands. Your talking ancient history. Who ever thinks of their cookies now."

"Foreign coookies are healthier -- lower in saturated fats."

"Health! You want to talk about health on National Cookie Day! Like that Peace Rally you went to on Veteran's Day. I am sorry, Raggirls, that you have to hear Ragtime hating America yet again."

"I love America," I insist. "Which is why I do not want us to be isolated from the World."

"I think I will make Snickerdoodles," Eldest Raggirl muses, ignoring the debate.

"That's my girl. A good old American cookie! Comes from New England, if I remember my history right. I'll go buy the ingredients. . . " Ragspouse pauses, " . . . unless Ragtime insists on making Gewurzplatzchen."

"What?" I ask.

"German spice cookies. Don't tell me you don't have the recipe memorized. They have preferred status under the International Cookie Treaty. Along with those Arab Cookies, whose name I will not mention."

Medium Raggirl is crying now, and I pick her up to comfort her. She squirms off of my lap. "Your own children are turning against you," Ragspouse says. And I see it is true. There is no love for the foreign cookie here -- no support for the International Cookie Treaty.

I can't sit here in this hate any more. "Happy National Cookie Day!" I shout, and slam the door behind me.