Thursdays are the grandest, sloppiest, grossest days because those are the days I receive my weekly Goop newsletter full of bland useless lifestyle tips that ooze and stink and slop all over my inbox like a bunch of rotten eggs thrown by a woman who probably calls her lifestyle "my vital aspect," Gwyneth Paltrow.  The subject of this week's newsletter was cookies, or as Gwyneth no doubt refers to them amongst her very good friends, "cooked-ies" or "sugar discuses." Let's find out more about these things:

The cookie. Small, delectable, perfect. Not out-of-a-package cookies with unpronounceable ingredients. Warm, homemade cookies. Butter. Brown sugar. Chocolate. I’ve rounded up some of my all-time faves, the ones that you find on my kitchen table most often. Bliss.

After reading these newsletters for a while, you start to get a handle on Gwynnie's own unique language. For instance, when she says "Not out-of-a-package cookies with unpronounceable ingredients" she means, "Not cooked-ies from the great garbage trough in which you all root your little piggie noses, the supermarket." When she says "the ones you find on my kitchen table most often" she means "the ones that I would deign to put on a charming antique country farmhouse plate on top of my kitchen countertop made from marble salvaged from one of the old Medici palaces outside Florence most often." And when she says, "Bliss," she means  "Discipline."

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So who are Gwyneth's non-mirror friends who have given her fave cookie recipes? She is sooo glad you asked:

The summer before last, a mutual friend brought the lovely Katie Lee Joel and her husband William over for dinner. Much to my delight, she brought a fresh batch of these cookies with her. I adore the contrast of the dark chocolate and the cherries – heaven.

Translation: "Do you know William, William Joel? Oh, he is simply a delight. After we all pretended to eat cookies, we retired to the conservatory where Christophe and I keep a piano. I know! Isn't it wild? Who keeps a piano in their conservatory? When Uncle Jay saw that, he said to me, "Oh, Goop! You are so quirky." Which is true. I really am. Just look at my bathroom: that sink is from a rustic French farmhouse, but the tiles are from this great Morroccan dealer I found on a charming little side street in Barcelona right around the corner from the Hotel Miramar there. Crazy! That's just me.

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But anyway, when William saw the piano he headed straight for it and played a few of his better-known ditties, "Upper-Towne Girl," "It Remains Rocker And Rolled To Myself," "Piano Gentleman." Oh, it was quite an evening."

But, for me, the best part of this week's newsletter was the end:

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Translation: "Be a dear and put something here, would you, Personal Secretary? All this computering is infringing on my mirror-staring time."