oreos. stat.

It just occurred to me that I haven’t had an Oreo in two days.

So what. So what?! How did I go so long without realizing that I hadn’t indulged in one of my favorite things? How have I slept at night? How did my chocolately friends not crawl out of their box in the cupboard and drag themselves to me at 2 am as I pathetically watched Gary Busey scatter pepperonis throughout the streets of New York City before Donald Trump decided to kick David Cassidy off of Celeb Apprentice? Where was my mind?

Maybe I haven’t needed them, because I feel calm and collected. The Oreo remedy, practiced by the stressed and the hungry, the bored, the young and old, cookie crumb collectors and connoisseurs alike — eaten and enjoyed, no one dislikes an Oreo. They’re God’s gift to every kind, their greatness paralleled only by Oprah, the Slap-Chop, and toilet paper…and perhaps, Gary Busey, tossing pepperonis along sidewalks and crosswalks in proclamation, “I’m the pepperoni prophet!”

So now I’m sitting here with a sleeve of Oreos, a jar of peanut butter and a gallon of milk. I have some catching up to do.