For as long as I can recall, I have had an inexplicable affinity for Danish Wedding Cookies (DWC). I have a vivid childhood memory of pilfering one of those gloriously pink boxes from the pantry and sneaking it into my parent’s bedroom, where I then hid behind the door and greedily demolished the entire box.

At some point in my early adulthood, I realized that I seriously needed intervention from DWC if I was to avoid an upgrade to the Women’s Clothing Department (WCD) at Dillard’s. I began to limit my purchases to only the most special of occasions, or ordinary occasions that otherwise warranted special treatment (i.e. PMS). This has seemed to work quite well for me over the past decade. Thus far I have been able to exercise a fair degree of purchasing restraint with the understanding, of course, that any box procured will be promptly devoured.

A few years back I decided that, when my time came to marry, I would celebrate in the style of a Danish wedding. Now, mind you, I have no idea what a traditional Danish wedding entails, nor do I truly care. But come that day, rest assured those confectionary wonders will be lavish in attendance.

Last week I was doing some routine grocery shopping and made a cursory run down the cereal/cookie/cracker aisle. As the Keebler Elves called out to me from the top shelf (in manner of Sirens), it occurred to me that I had not enjoyed a DWC in months. Not ever having been the sort to deny myself for any length of time, I decided to pick up a box. In the checkout line I noticed a thin film of dust coating the package. Not thinking much of it, I went forward with my purchase and eagerly anticipated tearing into the cookies later that evening.

Amazingly, I showed more restraint than thought possible and waited a full day to open the box. To my incredible dismay, it was the stalest lot of cookies I had ever encountered. The expiration date was 2 months past due. Now, I don’t know what the typical shelf life is on a box of preservatives, but I have a feeling that for something to actually be past its expiration date, its production was probably somewhere in the Medieval era. This didn’t discourage me in the least.

After eating a handful of cookies of questionable quality, I came to my senses and threw them away. I was walking to the dumpster with the trash bag when, in a moment of George Castanza weakness, I re-opened the bag and ate a few farewell cookies. I am a sick person.

I realize that most men, Danish or otherwise, are not attracted to women who eat cookies out of garbage cans (even remarkably clean garbage cans). Therefore, my Danish wedding may be a good ways off. Interestingly, I recently discovered that Mexican wedding cookies bear a remarkable resemblance (in both shape and taste) to their Danish counterparts. This opens up a whole new world of possibilities.