The idea of a holiday cookie exchange conjures up “Fun, Frolicking, Festiveness, and Frivolity” but there’s another reason I will forever call the events I planned the “F-word Cookie Exchange.” I think it will become abundantly clear when I tell you the two groups with which I attempted to organize these recent nightmares. My Writer’s Round Table and my Group Therapy.

Let’s listen in, shall we?

Writer’s Round Table Cookie Exchange

Me:  I know! Next time we meet, let’s each bring a plate of cookies for one of those fun trades, ok?

Member 1: Great, I’ll pick up a variety pack at Costco.

Member 2: Uh…you have to bake to be in a cookie exchange.

Member 1: Really?  That’s funny. You don’t write, yet you’re in our Round Table.

Me: C’mon folks, be nice. This is supposed to be just for fun.

Member 3: Why should I put major time and effort creating War & Peace cookies if someone else just brings Fifty Shades of Grey cookies.

Me: (Trying not to picture a Lady Finger handcuffed to the bedpost) I guess that’s true.  If we wanted store bought cookies, we could just head to the market.

Member 1: I prefer to spend my time using a pen, not a pin.

Me:  A pin?

Member 1: A rolling pin.

Member 3: You could always pick up those pre-made slice n’ bakes and just plop them onto cookies sheets.

Member 1: That’s cheating. And I feel that the Pillsbury Dough Boy is not a fully fleshed out character. What’s his true motivation for squealing when someone pokes him in the tummy? And shouldn’t he have an antagonist?

Me: Okay, seriously???

Member 4: Did you know that Ernest Hemingway adored his mother’s Toll House cookies so much it inspired his book title, “For Whom The Bell TOLLS?”

Me: I didn’t know that. You smart cookie, you!

Member 4: Nah, that’s pure fiction — I just made it up. Pretty good, eh? Don’t steal that. Speaking of, I call dibs on Oreos. Nobody else better plagiarize.

Member 2: You can’t copyright a sandwich cookie.

Me:  You know what?  Let’s forget this whole thing and stick with writing. A cookie exchange was a half-baked idea.

Member 1: Yeah, and you get those by the (baker’s) dozen.

Group Therapy Cookie Exchange

Me: We’ve all become so close and understanding of one another’s issues. What do you say we have a festive cookie exchange next time we meet? Everyone brings a platter with 3.5 dozen, ok?

Mr. OCD: I really can’t think about odd numbers.  Can we round up to 4 dozen? I would feel so much safer if things were even numbers.

Ms. Germaphobe: Can we make a pact that everyone wears gloves while we bake?

Mrs. Agoraphobic: I will only be able to attend if the cookies are distributed in my own home.

Miss Panic Attack: I’m starting to feel quite anxious that I might burn them all.

Mr. OCD: Just check the oven every 30 seconds, like I do.

Miss Chronic Depression: It’s really hard to get motivated for something this heavy. I’ll probably just spend the day sleeping. Although I once tried a cookie recipe called, “Pumpkin, Peanut, Prozac, Percocet Surprise Bites.”

Mr. Low Self-Esteem: My cookies will get pushed to the lonely back row and they’ll all still be there after our meeting. I just know it.

Ms. Borderline Personality: OMG, people! This isn’t all about you. It’s not even about cookies. I’ll confess that I’m sexually drawn to Bakers and Cooks in general and this entire conversation triggers my abandonment issues from the time the Head Chef for Marriott left me alone in Ikea housewares.

Mrs. Binge Eating Disorder:  I would like to graciously offer to bake on behalf of everyone else. I have each and every ingredient to make 103 different batches.

Mr. OCD: Can you round down to 102 batches? I would feel so much safer if . .

Therapist: I’m sorry, but that’s all the time we have for our session today. Good work everyone. Next week we’ll discuss favorite childhood cookie brands. Be prepared to feel a bit unsettled if Chips Ahoy comes up–but I’ll be right here with you the entire time and we’ll walk through it together.