Thanks and Giving

Yesterday evening, I stood in my brother's kitchen with red eyes and an (almost) empty stomach. I had just flown back to Pittsburgh from my extended Thanksgiving break in Wisconsin, and had suffered the consequence of not flying with Midwest airlines: no in-flight cookie.
As my boyfriend pointed out as we drove past billboards with giant chocolate-chip cookies on them, Midwest uses this American symbol of comfort as a major selling-point to fly with them. You can't be called "the Best Care In the Air" without serving your guests cookies.
I shouldn't complain. Some airlines don't give you jack anymore. As I flew with AirTran yesterday for the third time, I refused the offer of a complimentary beverage as I was squirming in my seat like a child waiting for the flight attendants to move the cart out from between myself and the restroom. Why did I have to pound that bottle of Coke right before take-off?
I graciously accepted the offer of a bag of pretzels, but stuffed them in my coat pocket. They're just not up to par with the cookies.

While I stood in the kitchen, still with the pretzels in my pocket, I rooted through what I know to be my brother's junk food drawer for a little something more substantial than the salt in a bag that the airline had given me. My dry, tired eyes lit up when they came across the holy grail of snack food: E.L. Fudge cookies.
"Can I have one?" I asked. They weren't yet opened.
"No," my brother said, "They're for the food bank."
"But don't you want to donate to the Liz Russell charity to help a poor college student?" My stomach growled.
"No. I'll pass on helping a poor college student with frequent flyer miles."