I used to go to church camp. Now it is almost impossible to remember any of the events of camp. I cannot tell you if we stayed in dorms or tents. If there was a pool, a lake or a river. I cannot remember if it was hot or cool. I most certainly cannot remember a thing we learned.
What I do remember is Patty and cookie dough.
Patty was my height (at 10) wtih bleached blonde hair in a short spunky cut mimicing Robert Smith of the Cure. She always wore bright red lipstick and occassionally smeared the corner. She loved the Cure. I didin't even know who the Cure was. She wore black jeans with holes in them and a white t-shirt. The kind of white t-shirt my dad wore under his work shirts.
Patty was cool and I wanted to be just like her.
As cool and grown up as Patty was she loved cookie dough. To me that made her just that much cooler. Maybe that is why she let me tag along, I'll never know. But during our free time Patty and I would walk to the camp store and each buy a roll of Nestle Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. We'd cut open one end and begin eating, rolling back the wrapper as we ate.
I don't know what we spoke of during our cookie dough walks. I can only make up converstations:
"So what is the Cure?"
"Only the coolest band ever."
What kind of music?"
"Robert Smith is so hot!"
"Do you know him?"
"Not yet, but we're gonna get married."
I recently puchased some cookie dough, still packaged in rounds of mustard yellow, warning: DO NOT CONSUME RAW COOKIE DOUGH. I cut back the wrapper and took a bite. Suddenly I'm 10 again walking away from the camp store in awe of my friend Patty.