The Ramblings of a Confused Fish

I Still Want Cookies

Look, I promise I'm not a boring person, but, I don't generally have fun or exciting dreams. I have realistic dreams.

My more riveting dreams consist of going to bargain for food in a market in the middle of nowhere or walking a trail in the wilderness, nothing too out of the ordinary.

People talk about fever dreams and dreams that don't make sense, and I would be so happy if I had them. I don't want my imagination to reflect my real life! That takes all the fun out of imagining!

The other day, I was minding my business, going through my cabinets to look for food. I came across butterscotch chips (basically chocolate chips but butterscotch flavored), which triggered a memory lying in the very depths of my subconscious.

Some background, my best friend is the best baker I've ever met. She's just as sweet as the cakes she makes, but also just as sour as the expired milk she used in her cereal last week. The duality of man, I suppose. Don't tell her I said that.

In my short recollection, she told me about the cookies she and her mother made, and how she and her family ate them all before she could pack some away for me. I didn't believe that one bit. I asked about the ingredients, wondering what kind of cookie she made. She said they were regular chocolate chip cookies but with one key substitution. Instead of chocolate chips, she used butterscotch chips. She went on to tell me that she didn't like chocolate chip cookies and preferred sugar cookies.

Now how does this tie into the topic of dreams? Contrary to my original assessment, this entire exchange was a dream. Do you know how I came to that conclusion? I had an epiphany just a few hours before scrawling the rough draft for this very upload.

My best friend hates butterscotch.

She believes it to be "Grandpa candy" (derogatory). I was mostly certain that I imagined the entire thing, but doubt still lurked in my mind. I had to confirm my conjecture. With urgency, I grabbed my phone and texted frantically. I asked her whether she knew what butterscotch chips were and whether she'd ever had one.

The answer came almost two hours later. The results were in, I was on the edge of my seat. Was I delusional or was I correct? There was only one way to know.

I opened up my text messages.

UMMMMM...

No

I was beside myself. Of course, she probably wondered why I left her on read for half an hour afterward, but I will not explain myself. I was busy pondering how it was possible I managed to convince myself that she was talking about this random product I had in the depths of my pantry.

I wondered how my dreams could be so convincing for a while, but it seemed obvious upon further inspection. I am a writer, a storyteller. That's what I do. I've been doing it for a long time. My brain used the characters I was familiar with to create a basic problem and solution plotline. The conflict was introduced (my unhappiness at the lack of cookies) and a resolution was reached (happiness upon discovering that she also liked butterscotch chips).

Now after reeling from that fact, I opened my cabinet up again to the butterscotch chips. I then ate them in pancakes.

I have learned that I am, without exaggeration, the smarter friend for endorsing butterscotch.