tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85562504449975643272011-04-21T22:18:23.304-07:00Ragtimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04332055212133759687noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8556250444997564327.post-62224792322699417742007-12-04T06:29:00.000-08:002007-12-04T08:44:08.795-08:00"Yey!" says Eldest Raggirl, "It is National Cookie Day!"<br /><br />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 -- <span style="font-weight: bold;">National</span> 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."<br /><br />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?"<br /><br />"Not in front of the Raggirls," I say. But there is no escaping politics at the breakfast table this morning.<br /><br />"Is good ol' American chocolate chip cookies not good enough for you?"<br /><br />"Coookies are not American," I point out. "It comes from the Dutch ''koekje' -- little cake."<br /><br />Ragspouse sneers. "Dutch cookies. Feh. The Netherlands. Your talking ancient history. Who ever thinks of their cookies now."<br /><br />"Foreign coookies are healthier -- lower in saturated fats."<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />"I love America," I insist. "Which is why I do not want us to be isolated from the World."<br /><br />"I think I will make Snickerdoodles," Eldest Raggirl muses, ignoring the debate.<br /><br />"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 <span class="head3">Gewurzplatzchen."<br /><br />"What?" I ask.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />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.<br /></span><br />I can't sit here in this hate any more. "Happy National Cookie Day!" I shout, and slam the door behind me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8556250444997564327-6222479232269941774?l=coalhousewalker.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Ragtimehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04332055212133759687noreply@blogger.com0