Dishola: Reviews by the Dish

I’d been looking for a sweet cookie like her all my life. After years of pleasuring myself with cheap Pop-Tarts and Easy Bake Toll House, I craved a flavor that you don’t find wrapped in tinfoil on the shelf of the local 5 and dime.

The French confectionery where I found her promised the sort of delicate pastries served at PTA meetings and church socials, sugary-sweet concoctions that looked pretty enough but always left you wanting more. Sitting up all night on stakeout with nothing but coffee and cigarettes to keep you going is hungry work however, even if the suspect is just a local politician with a little something on the side and a furious wife.

The treats on display within the shop’s glass-fronted countertop were just what I expected, sugar-coated pastries, florrid macaroons, overpriced chocolates with booze in them. I was about to head uptown for a breakfast of steak and eggs when I caught sight of her and stopped dead in my tracks for a closer look.

Some of the fellas like a gal with a little dough on her bones, and one look at her showed why. With her curly blonde hair and her frilly pink dress, her long red fingernails and her pouty red lips, she had a way of carrying herself that was all class. When she batted those silky lashes in my direction, I knew that the world would never start spinning for me again until I had made her mine.

She was an expensive cookie but she proved worth the cash. She wasn’t the sort of girl you’d take home to give to your mother on Easter Sunday, but I wanted to prolong the experience as much as possible, even though I was determined not to play the patsy for her. I’d never had a cookie quite this fancy before and I knew that in the end she’d be gone for good, regardless of how long I managed to savor her buttery goodness.

I wanted to put her up on a pedestal just to look at her, but the savage growls in my stomach got the better of me. When the cops found me, the cool hood of my sedan suggested I’d been sitting there alone for hours, although the pretty blonde crumbs around my mouth told another story.