I, myself, have never met a cookie that I didn’t like. Yesterday, we ordered sandwiches from this darling little country general store. It was the kind of store you walk into, and you expect to all of the sudden see yourself in braids and a long flocked dress, like Laura Ingalls. The store wrapped your delicious sandwiches in cardboard boxes and hidden underneath the wax paper, which was protecting the intactness of the sandwich, were two little, neatly tucked-in cookies. The cookies weren’t particularly special (we had also purchased several of their homemade mack-daddy pan sized cookies), but to find these little chippers, tucked in their little hiding spot, was such a delightful surprise, it brought a smile to all our faces. Cookies should be in their own food group, a vital daily supply of Vitamin H (as in Happiness). At our sons’ university, there is a cookie delivery service aptly called “Cookie-gasm”. Hey, if the shoe fits . . . . . Truly though, what I sincerely know, with all of my heart, is that every cookie matters.