When I walked in at 12:30 ahead of the 1:00 football games and saw an almost empty space, I was relieved.
When I saw free peanuts on the empty tables, I was happy.
When a crowd of people started trickling in carrying containers of chocolate chip cookies, I was intrigued.
When I heard murmurings of some sort of cookie competition, I was excited.
When it became clear that my friend and I were the only ones in the entire bar not involved in this competition, I was confused.
When the competition began and I saw how many extra cookies were left after the judges and group had all sampled them, I was hopeful.
When people began leaving around halftime carrying take-out containers with their leftover cookies, I was worried.
When the bartender brought our check and didn’t include a cookie with the bill, I was sad.
When I left the bar without any cookies, I was deflated.
When I stopped at a bakery on the way home to buy a giant chocolate chip cookie that I would later consume for dinner, I was indignant.
When I ate the cookie that wasn’t nearly as delicious as I’m sure the homemade ones in the competition were, I was disappointed.
When I realized that, even as a 30-year-old woman, the hinted promise and then absence of cookies had caused me moderate psychological pain, I was not surprised.