Cookie Head by Susan Tepper

Cookie Head by Susan Tepper
Kyla opened the bakery strictly for cookies.  Sold by the pound or half pound.  A quarter pound only if the person seemed destitute.  She would not sell individual cookies. Like it said on the window of John’s Pizza on Bleecker: No Slices.
For weighing the cookies, she found an old brass scale with double trays in a pawn shop. 
Reggie, her pastry chef, sniffing his disapproval.  “That’s a fruit scale.”   
“Well it works for weighing the cookies,”said Kyla. 
“If someone needs one cookie, a little sugar rush, how can you turn them away?”  Then he straightened his high white pastry chef hat that always seemed askew.
Cookie head, she wanted to call him.  His strangely shaped head had inspired the opening of an all-cookie bakery.  Naturally he had no idea.  His big chef-ego would have balked and bolted.  Then she’d be stuck baking the cookies, too. 
She liked standing on Jane Street holding a tray of samples, smiling at passersby, chatting, offering a cookie.  
“You give away one at a time but you won’t sell one cookie!” Reggie was having a pissy-fit.  “It’s unbalanced logic.”
She’d just come back with her empty tray.   It was hot out there.  She mopped her forehead with a napkin.
He dumped a cookie sheet full of hot chocolate chips into one side of the scale.  It tipped  precariously.
“Why are you doing that?” said Kyla.
“It’s what I do best.  Terror.  Until you give in.”

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2 responses to “Cookie Head by Susan Tepper

  1. Pingback: 6 – Balance of Terror « 52|250 A Year of Flash

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