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Let the Chips Fall Where They May

"Chocolate chip cookies!" I exclaim when I spy them sitting on my grandma's black and white marble kitchen countertop. I part the edges of the Ziplock sandwich bag, separating the line of green into blue and yellow. I am filled with a sense of gleeful anticipation as I reach into the bag and select a cookie. (Never mind that the cookies are burnt to a medium brown, or that they are a rather interesting interpretation of round, I can think only of semi-sweet morsels melting on my tongue, savoring each blissful bite.) My teeth meet with cookie between (Here it comes!) and then, to my horror, my taste buds are met with a shriveled raisin! The cruel deception! The terrible injustice!