Lust of the Eyes

On a sunny Sunday morning I walked into a café with the feeling that today would be a day for a cookie.

Whilst ordering a hot americano, I looked to see if they had any at the counter. Stacked in a little brown basket were a couple of fairly freshly baked cookies, about the size of my hand when stretched, wrapped in plastic and decorated with a colorful sticker stating when they were baked. They looked delicious.

I opted for the chocolate chip cookie because oh my, do I love chocolate. After paying by card, I grabbed a cookie out of the little brown basket. Once my order was complete, I sat down at the end of a long wooden table and grabbed my MacBook out of my brown Longchamp pliage. My MacBook made its start up sound as I took a sip of my warm americano.

I tore up the clear crisp plastic wrapper around the cookie and carefully split the soft cookie in half, and then again, in one eighth.

I brought the small piece to my lips and placed it in my mouth. The taste of sugar spread across my tongue as I chewed slowly on the piece of cookie. That's when suddenly my perception shattered:

I had been deceived.

While my teeth were still grinding on the little piece of cookie, I realized that the little chocolate chips were in fact not chocolate chips: They were raisins.

I was flooded with disappointment. How is it possible that I had been deceived by this known perpetrator, the one that had already ruined the mornings of so many? How come my eyes had seen a raisin cookie for what my mind desired it to be: a chocolate chip cookie?

Was I actually seeing it for what it was, or was I merely perceiving it through the will of my mind?

I was surpised. Not only by the cookie, but also by my eyes.

From that day on I never had a raisin cookie instead of a chocolate chip cookie again.

Because from then on,

I would just ask.