GET the COOKIE

[tree]

And since dreams may occasionally foretell the future, and YD already told everyone where
the cookie is, I go to her place where she offers to model her full-dress Scottish tartan
complete with sporran if I will be her dressing assistant. She needs a little help adjusting the
outfit.

Under the guise of assistance, I replace the cookie with a hockey puck.

Once the photo shoot is over, I leave, taking the cookie with me.
The cookie will be cosy and well guarded somewhere on the 50 acres
that comprise the yak farm near me.

 

[Yeshuasdaughter]

I open my eyes, in my bedroom, and realize as well, that it was all just a dream.

I roll over and feel something hard, yet itchy inside the shirt pocket of my pajamas. I reach inside and scoop out a hockey puck, covered in crumbs of The Cookie. The Cookie indeed, that you have stolen from me.

The room spins around me. My entire sense of reality is put to the test. I look out the window, and see enemy agents rappelling down ropes, searching every apartment for The Cookie.

I shake my head in disbelief "It's real. It's been real all along."

I need a disguise. Something that no one would expect.

I go into my walk-in closet and put on an ankle length Amish cape dress, apron, bonnet, and a pair of sensible hiking boots.

Stalking behind you, but also two steps ahead of your every move, I make my way into the Yak Patch.

Hiding amid the herd of yaks, I slip my hand out as you pass by, and pickpocket The Cookie from off of your person. Forgive me, as this is very un-Amish of me.

After you pass by, I retreat from the Yak Patch, Cookie safely in my apron pocket, and board a train, headed to Amish Country, Cookie in tow.