Today I made about three dozen chocolate chip cookies. After they had cooled, I put them in a tupperware container and left them on the counter. Then I went off to work. When I came back, the cookies were gone. In their place, was a note that said: "If you want to see your cookies alive, you must bake five dozen more and leave them on the kitchen table."
I knew Schultz didn't write that note, and neither did the bird. There was only one person in the house who could've written it: My husband.
I marched into his office. "Excuse me. Did you kidnap my cookies?"
He gave me his Mr. Innocent look.
"Don't give me that look," I said. "I know you kidnapped my cookies!"
"Well, you never make any for me. You always give them away," he retorted. "And if you let me have any, they're always the reject broken ones!"
"Yeah, so?" I said. "That doesn't mean you can just kidnap my cookies!"
"You're not getting them back!"
Grrr. I'm going to report this incident to the cookie police, because I sure don't feel like baking five dozen more!