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The Bang Bang Theories

Bite Size

Let’s just get down to business.

The Cookies.

In the name of RESEARCH, for YOU, Reader – I stopped in at Stosh’s Kolachkes in Parma and shelled out seven large for 12 small.

Seven bucks for a dozen cookies is just….spendy. Very spendy.

It’s like…..stops to do some quick math…..like almost $3 a cookie!

It’s midnight o’clock, and that’s the closest we are getting to math at this hour. The only other math I usually do at this hour is calculating the 600 lb lifers that I’m addicting to watching as my bedtime snack. Every. Single. Night.  I drift off, cheering them on to victory. Or I’m annoyed by them, because frankly some of those folks have horrible personalities and aren’t likable at all.

Regardless. We’re talking Cookies right now.


These dreamy sugary melt-in-your-mouth confections:

That’s all that’s left from the million-dollar dozen.

Raspberries were the first to go.

These cream cheese ones aren’t second place, lemme tell you. They are all first place flavors. They ALL get a trophy.

So there really is no point to this post, other than the Folgers coffee link kept linking, when it should have gone to cookies, but here we are. I solved this. Except you can only get them if you’re in my local area, so this is really just a mean tease. You’ll have to take my Christmas Cookie word on it.

You can purchase these by the pound, which runs $15, but it’s a part-time biz for ol’ Stosh and he has limited weekend hours and we happened to be there right before he was closing at 2:00 p.m. and we purchase the very last 12 cookies in the shop.  You have to get an order in with them if you want cookies, and that level of difficulty in obtainment, Reader, is what will keep me from entering a sugary cookie coma this holiday season.

Because I can barely call ahead for important things like eyeglass appointments and I seriously doubt I’ll be making a cookie appointment. Because part of the splendor of Christmas cookie-ing is the spontaneity of it all. Otherwise you’re literally planning your fat, and I like mine to unsuspectingly creep up on me. As it should be.



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