Who me? Couldn’t be. Then who? Piper took the cookie from the cookie jar. Are you singing along yet? Sorry ’bout that.

I caught Piper tonight between her fourth and fifth giant chocolate cookie. We were at a friend’s house and her mother-in-law made homemade treats second only to Mrs. Peterman’s. They were gooey and soft in the middle with the perfect buttery crisp edges. You know the ones. Can’t say that I blame the Piper.

Why didn’t I stop her from her chocolate chip cookie gorge? I was on the front porch stuffing down an enormous piece of strawberry rhubarb pie made by some Christian women who clearly just earned their passage through the pearly gates. Mmm.  Delicious. When I came in to refill clean up my plate, I found Piper smeared in chocolate from mouth to elbow. She smiled so big. That’s how I knew there was trouble.

“How many you had there, sweet stuff?” I asked.

“They’re small,” Piper answered, avoiding my question.

“They look big to me. Is that your second or your third?”

“How many’s a lot, Mom?” Ah. Answering a question with a question. Well played, P.

“Well,” I said, taking the current cookie contender out of her hand, “what do you think is a reasonable serving?”

“Of what?” Piper asked. Oh, please. I’m so on to you.

“Cookies, Piper. How many cookies do you think is an acceptable number?”

“Five isn’t a lot, is it? You said I could hardly buy anything with five dollars. That’s a small number.”

“Not in cookies, honey. Five cookies is too much. How many have you had?”

Piper looked at the cookie in my hand. She licked her chocolatey lips.

“Less than five,” she said. “By one. Should I switch to pie?”