Happy Valetine's Day/Puerto Rican Cookie Monster

Sunday I had to go to a baby shower for jawbitch's cousin. I didn't really want to go, because her aunt (the prospective grandmother) invited 70+ people in to her 4 bedroom house. However, it was good to see all those folks I haven't seen in a couple of years. Plus, her family is boisterous, loud, and just down right fun.

Later in the afternoon, as the gift unwrapping ceremony commenced, us mens assembled in the den, a half-floor below the festivities to which we weren't prone to partake. I brought a huge plate of chocolate chip cookies in from the kitchen that one of the neighbor's baked. As we were happily munching away, she came in and picked the plate up. I grabbed it too, and the tug-o-war ensued:

G-man: you can't take that plate, we're eating those cookies!
Neighbor: Yes I can, I made them.
G-man: Yeah, for us to eat, so let go.
Neighbor: No, I just want the plate. I'll bring them back, I promise.
G-man: Ok, but make it snappy.

True to her word, she brought them back on a fresh plate, sans half-a-dozen on the pile. But there was still plenty, so I let her slide.

After 15 minutes of good conversation, a subject of what will probably be many future posts entered the room. To protect his identity, I shall call him Bluto, but should any of my family members read this, they will know who he by his extra large size. I love him like a brother (and not like bacon). He, needless to say, has a weight problem, which he has been struggling with for years.

Anyways, enter Bluto.

Bluto, in a deep, basso voice: Yo ... what's going on here?
G-man, spying the last cookie left on the plate, and realizing the object of Bluto's attention, lunges toward the plate, deftly swiping up the large baked confectionary: It's a chocolate chip cookie!
Bluto, maneuvering around the couch, quickly as a large man can swing, presses G-man down into the cushions: Give me dat!
G-man, face down in the cushions, wriggles the large confectionary up in between his lips, stuffing furiously in an attempt to jam in the entire cookie: Mrrupppff mmmgggllgigi.
Bluto, slamming his fist down into G-man's thigh: Awwoo, that was foul!
Jawbitch: What! Are you guys like five years old?

Well, after the laughter died down, and I finally swallowed, I didn't realize it, but I had injured myself. Blood poured from the corner of my mouth. It's healing now, just like the bruise on my thigh.

Happy Valentine's Day, Jawbitch!