Semantic Arguments

Arielle, my sister, periodically goes on what might be termed "baking binges."

The form that they take can vary from cookies to cakes to tortillas, but what they have in common is the sheer volume of foodstuff produced. Instead of, say, a tortilla, Arielle will prepare five dozen and invite her friends over. Her friends, of course, are uninterested in the tortillas and do not eat them, although they do eat whatever food I happen to want when I wake up the next morning to find that it has been consumed by the mongrel horde. Instead, I am left with tortillas.

They are inevitably bad.

I love my sister. I do. I love her more than reason itself.

Cooking? No. There should be none of that where she is concerned.

Today's culinary efforts took the form of chocolate chip cookies. I have seen her make chocolate chip cookies before. I have even eaten the product, which is usually perfecly acceptible.

Today?

Today, they were spherical hulks more similar in size and heft to Mexican pastries.

Neither Patrick nor I particularly cares for Mexican pastries. But the hell of it is she's calling them cookies, which we do like. Very much. So we get sucked in, thinking, "maybe this time it will taste like a cookie!" when in fact it does not. It tastes like Mexican pastry.

This leads to circular arguments that go something like this:

"Cookie."
"Mexican pastry."
"Cookie."
"Mexican pastry."
"Cookie."
"Mexican pastry."

I believe that this could go on for hours if I let it, but I am inevitably sucked in by the promise of cookie -- chocolate chip cookie specifically.

O damn advertizers and their wily bait-and-switch!