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The day after Valentine's Day always left Sesame Street in a peculiar state.
The excitement was over, but the decorations remained.
Paper hearts still hung crookedly from windows, ribbons fluttered lazily in the afternoon breeze, and handmade cards sat forgotten on stoops and benches. The neighborhood was slowly returning to normal.
Unfortunately, some of those leftovers had found their way somewhere they absolutely did not belong.
Oscar the Grouch's trash can.
From deep inside his home, a low growl rumbled through the piles of garbage.
"This is what happens every year," he grumbled to nobody in particular. "Everybody spends one day acting all lovey-dovey, then dumps the evidence in my trash."
A bright red gift box rested on top of a heap of newspapers. Oscar stared at it as though it had personally insulted him.
The ribbon alone was offensive.
He snatched the box, ripped off the lid, and immediately regretted it.
Rows of chocolates sat neatly inside, decorated with swirls, drizzles, and tiny pink hearts.
Oscar recoiled.
"Yuck."
The lid slammed shut, and the box disappeared over his shoulder into the depths of the trash pile.
Unfortunately, another one immediately caught his eye.
Then another.
And another.
Slowly, Oscar rose higher from his trash can and surveyed the damage.
His home had become a graveyard for unwanted Valentine's gifts.
Fancy assortments of candy. Decorated sugar cookies. Chocolate-covered treats wrapped in foil. Heart-shaped everything.
Normally, Oscar appreciated free garbage.
Garbage was garbage.
But this?
This was unbearable.
The colors alone were making him cranky.
A cookie covered in pink frosting slid down a pile of junk and landed directly in his lap.
Oscar stared at it.
The cookie seemed to stare back.
It even had a message written across the icing.
BE MINE.
Oscar narrowed his eyes.
"Oh, that's it."
With dramatic flair, he hurled the cookie across the trash can. It bounced off a cardboard box and vanished beneath a broken lampshade.
Silence returned.
Then a grin slowly spread across his face.
A solution had just occurred to him.
Several minutes later, Oscar leaned out of his trash can with a telephone pressed to his ear.
The call connected almost immediately.
"Hello?" came a familiar voice.
Oscar smirked.
"Cookie. You busy?"
On the other end, Cookie Monster sounded pleasantly surprised.
"Oscar! Hi! What you need?"
"I got a problem."
"A problem?"
"Yeah."
"What kind of problem?"
Oscar glanced around at the mountains of sweets surrounding him.
"The terrible kind."
Cookie's voice dropped immediately.
"How terrible?"
Oscar took a moment to enjoy what he was about to say.
Then he answered.
"Too many cookies."
Silence.
Oscar could practically hear the gears turning.
Finally:
"...What?"
"Too many cookies."
"That not make sense."
"It makes perfect sense."
"No. Cookie know what 'too' means. Cookie know what 'many' means. Cookie definitely know what cookies are."
"Then what's the problem?"
"Those words not belong together."
Oscar snorted.
"There's chocolate, too."
The silence somehow became even deeper.
When Cookie finally spoke again, his voice sounded faint.
"How much chocolate?"
Oscar glanced toward a stack of pink boxes threatening to spill onto the sidewalk.
"Enough to bury Big Bird."
The line went dead.
Oscar blinked.
"Huh."
Then he heard something.
Distant footsteps.
Very distant footsteps.
Rapidly becoming less distant.
A blue blur appeared at the far end of the street.
Oscar watched as Cookie Monster sprinted around a corner at a speed nobody that size should have been capable of reaching. A trash can narrowly avoided becoming a casualty, a mailbox wobbled dangerously, and someone shouted in surprise as Cookie charged past without slowing down.
Moments later, he skidded to a halt beside Oscar's trash can.
"WHERE?"
Oscar casually pointed downward.
Cookie looked.
And froze.
The mountain of sweets rose before him like a monument.
Boxes tied with ribbons. Cookies decorated with intricate icing. Elegant assortments of chocolates. Candy wrapped in shiny foil.
A treasure trove.
For several long seconds, Cookie simply stared.
His mouth fell open.
His eyes widened.
The expression on his face resembled someone discovering a lost civilization.
"Oh..."
Oscar rolled his eyes.
"Don't start."
"It's beautiful."
"It's garbage."
"It's beautiful garbage."
"Now you're talking."
Carefully, Cookie picked up the nearest box and opened it.
His eyes somehow widened even further.
"Oscar..."
"What?"
"They put little flowers on these."
"So?"
"They edible flowers."
Oscar groaned.
Cookie lifted a chocolate truffle and examined it from every angle, admiring the decoration and appreciating the craftsmanship.
Then he tossed it into his mouth.
The admiration vanished instantly.
"Excellent chocolate."
And finally, the feeding frenzy began.
Lids flew through the air. Wrappers scattered across the pavement. Cookies disappeared almost as fast as they could be uncovered.
Every few seconds another delighted exclamation emerged from the chaos.
"Oh! This one have caramel!"
Crunch.
"Ooh! This one have frosting!"
Crunch.
"Look! Tiny candy hearts!"
Crunch.
"What they say?"
"Don't know. Already ate them."
Oscar barked out a laugh.
Now this was entertainment.
For nearly half an hour, he watched the pile steadily shrink. Every so often, Cookie Monster would discover something particularly impressive and hold it up for inspection—an enormous chocolate heart, a beautifully decorated cookie, a gift box shaped like a rose.
Each discovery was met with genuine wonder.
Each one was also eaten immediately afterward.
Eventually, Cookie uncovered the largest cookie of them all.
It was nearly the size of a dinner plate.
Red icing covered the surface in elaborate patterns, and the word SWEETHEART stretched across the center.
Cookie held it reverently.
For the first time all afternoon, he hesitated.
"Oscar."
"What?"
"This might be greatest cookie Cookie ever see."
Oscar squinted.
"It looks ridiculous."
"It's art."
"It's lunch."
Cookie looked down at the cookie.
Then back at Oscar.
Then back at the cookie again.
His stomach growled.
The debate was settled.
One enormous bite removed nearly half of it.
A second finished the job.
Cookie sighed happily.
"Worth it."
At last, the mountain disappeared.
Only empty boxes, ribbons, and crumpled wrappers remained. The street looked as though a very festive tornado had passed through.
Cookie leaned against Oscar's trash can and let out a long, contented sigh.
"Cookie happy."
"Good."
"Very happy."
"Good."
"Extremely happy."
Oscar smirked.
"Good."
A comfortable silence settled between them.
The afternoon sun drifted lower, and somewhere nearby, a bird sang.
For once, neither monster had anything to complain about.
Well.
Almost.
Cookie glanced toward his friend.
"You know, very nice of you call Cookie."
Oscar immediately groaned.
"Oh, here we go."
"You think of Cookie."
"No."
"You see cookies and chocolate and know exactly who want them."
"I wanted them gone."
"You share."
"I didn't share."
"You did."
"I got rid of them."
Cookie's grin widened.
The Grouch pointed an accusing claw.
"Stop smiling like that."
"What smile?"
"That smile."
Cookie chuckled.
Then his expression softened.
"Still. Thanks, Oscar."
The reply didn't come immediately.
Oscar looked away.
He fidgeted with a bent soup can, adjusted a newspaper, and pretended to be interested in a broken toaster.
When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff.
"Yeah, yeah."
For Oscar the Grouch, that was practically a heartfelt speech.
Cookie seemed to understand.
He smiled, settled more comfortably beside the trash can, and watched the afternoon drift by.
Oscar didn't tell him to leave.
And somehow, that made the day after Valentine's Day a little less annoying than usual.