Dear readers, you would expect that I would write about my mother, as I did about my father on Father?s Day; or perhaps you thought that I could have connected Labour Day with the matter I work in; however, all this has yet nothing to do with this post. I had two or three no developed ideas, and when it happens, as you know, I usually chose a poem or tale, therefore it is the case today.
They were during summer nights in my childhood when, family and friends sat outside of the front door taking the air, tales as well as gossip were told. This oral transmission has disappeared, albeit we can also think that it has been replaced by stories floating around on the Internet, many of these lose their author and start to belong to the commonality.
Today, taking the risk that my son describes this post as ?cheap philosophy? (this expression could be the issue of another post), I would like to share with you a tale. As it is the function of tales, it has a moral.
The Cookie Thief by Valerie Cox
?A woman was waiting at an airport one night
With several long hours before her flight
She hunted for a book in the airport shop
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop
She was engrossed in her book but happened to see
That the man beside her as bold as could be
Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag between
Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene
She munched cookies and watched the clock
As this gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock
She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by
Thinking “If I wasn’t so nice I’d blacken his eye”
With each cookie she took he took one too
And when only one was left she wondered what he’d do
With a smile on his face and a nervous laugh
He took the last cookie and broke it in half
He offered her half as he ate the other
She snatched it from him and thought “Oh brother
This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude
Why he didn’t even show any gratitude”
She had never known when she had been so galled
And sighed with relief when her flight was called
She gathered her belongings and headed for the gate
Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate
She boarded the plane and sank in her seat
Then sought her book which was almost complete
As she reached in her baggage she gasped with surprise
There was her bag of cookies in front of her eyes
“If mine are here” she moaned with despair
“Then the others were his and he tried to share”
“Too late to apologize she realized with grief”
That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.
Valerie Cox, ?A story of wrong perceptions? in ?Chicken Soup for the Soul?, editor Jack Canfield
Very rarely could it happen to me, because I tend to eat apples instead of biscuits. However, though everyone can learn their own lesson, it seems clear that it is not the same to be sure than to be right. How many times have you experience situations like that?
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