One Bad Choice

       Once upon a time, a wonderful little girl, one loved by her parents and teachers and even her brother and sister, was craving one of the scrumptious-smelling chocolate chip cookies her mother had just removed from the oven.

        As steam rose from the trays of puffed-up circles, the girl said, “Mmm. May I please have one?”

        “After dinner,” was her mother’s reply.

        The shiny dark morsels looked like chocolate diamonds as their melty goodness co-mingled with the brown sugar and baked dough. Their scent stampeded through the girl’s nostrils and her open mouth as she breathed in their intoxicating presence.

        “Please?” she asked again, so sweetly.

        Her mother bent down and hugged her. “After dinner, Sweetheart,” she said and kissed the crown of the girl’s soft brown hair.

        The mother moved the cookies, one by one, from their parchment-lined baking sheets to the cooling rack as the girl watched, enchanted.

        Just then, the buzzer on the washing machine in the basement sounded, and the mother deftly left the kitchen and headed downstairs.

        The girl eyed the chocolate-studded cookies, much cooler now, but still smelling so buttery-wonderful that saliva was accumulating in her mouth.

        When she could finally no longer resist the temptation, she reached up, clamped her thumb and two fingers around the crispy rim of one of the succulent disks and, in one fluid motion, brought it toward her awaiting tastebuds.

        No sooner had she bitten down, than her mouth filled with a taste like rotten fish scales mixed with slimy garbage cans and sweaty tennis shoes.

        She cried out in horror and frantically spit the disgusting half-eaten globule of cookie from her mouth. When that didn’t help, she grabbed for a paper towel, doused it beneath the hot faucet and repeatedly swiped it across her tongue.

        But the horrendous taste just continued to cling to it like glitter on glue.

        The girl began to scream for her mother, who rushed up from the basement. Upon seeing her daughter’s wild-eyed expression, she asked, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

        “I couldn’t stop myself!” the girl wailed. “I ate a bite of one of the cookies, and now I can’t get this horrible taste to go away! They looked and smelled so good, Mommy! Why do they taste so bad?”

        The mother gave her daughter a pitying look. “Oh dear,” she said sadly. “I’m afraid that is the taste of Guilt.”

        “But how do I get rid of it?” the daughter cried.