I had reached the point of no return. Did I spit the cookie out and look like a fool? Did I swallow it and risk certain death? I was in a unique situation with no backup and all eyes on me. I truly had no idea that this exact moment would become a classic anecdote at Thanksgiving dinner every year. All I really knew was the sinking suspicion that I did not have a cookie in my mouth.

Maybe I should go back. My dad had dragged my siblings and me to a Saints game watch party at his friend’s house, and I was filled with certain dread at the thought of being around loud and obnoxious middle-aged men. The only light at the end of this tunnel was that my dad’s friend’s daughter, Sara, was going to be there. She was the epitome of the cool pre-teen. Clad in her Justice clothes and with my older sister in tow, she walked up to me with a tray of colorful treats. When Sara asked, “Katherine, do you want a cookie?”, I felt my posture shift from slouched to fully composed. With all the veggie trays surrounding me, I had to make a drastic decision about what my dinner would be: cookies or carrots and ranch? I gazed at the tray of colorful cookies all cut into different shapes. The decision was tough, but it had to be made. So, I picked one up and thanked Sara accordingly. All the adults around me already had a cookie in their hands and were pretending to nibble on the sweet treats. I, seeing no point in hesitation, plopped the cookie right into my mouth and began chewing. All at once, I received looks of horror from Sara and my sister and concern from the adults around me.

Obviously, everyone was jealous that I got the first bite, so I continued to chew. It was when the cookie never lost its shape that the dread started rising within me. I looked at my sister for help, but her horrified look had morphed to make her look like the identical twin of a tomato. The foreign object in my mouth must have had some effect on everyone around me because no one ever uttered, “Katherine, you might want to spit that out.” Slowly, I brought my hand to my mouth and spat the bright blue lump into my palm. I felt my inflamed cheeks spread to my neck and ears, and I could not bring myself to look at my hand. I thought Sara had brought me a tray of cookies out of the kindness of her heart. Instead, I had almost died because of poisoned food. Sara, the coolest girl in the world, had never seemed childish to me. I had never expected this behavior from her cool demeanor, and she had never struck me as a child at heart. I guess I had learned not to blindly trust anyone with cool clothes and the promise of cookies. I mean, how was I supposed to know that twelve year olds still play pretend with Play-Doh?