One Sunday in October

Oliver found his wife endlessly fascinating. From the way she showered those she loved with love and compassion, to the way her brilliant mind could leap from one thought to another at light speed. Currently, Oliver was fascinated by her ability to focus on many things at once. Shane was simultaneously making a militarily precise checklist that might guide them through the festive season (with their added guest, Sharon), updating the O'Toole Foundation website, and watching some spectacularly awful (according to Oliver) television. The program seemed to be a baking competition of sorts, that appeared to have only two prerequisites for its competitors – no discernible culinary skills, and a tendency to panic.

'Shane,' Oliver began, 'How can someone as clever as you watch such mindless television?'

Shane looked up, shrugged, and then returned to her programming. 'Oh, come on! It is hilarious!'

A raised eyebrow was his only response. Suddenly, Shane leapt from the couch, and tackled the unsuspecting Oliver in a bear hug, before stepping back to clap her hands with glee! Dazed, and beyond confused, Oliver stood frozen, wondering what thought had crossed Shane's agile mind. He had a feeling he may be manipulated into something. With a growing sense of resignation, Oliver crossed his arms, bounced a little on his toes, then rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, a rueful smile on his face.

'Yes, Mrs O'Toole?'

When provoked, Shane could giggle like a small child. She was definitely provoked.

'Oliver! You are brilliant! I had forgotten all about competitive baking this year!'

'You say that like it's a bad thing…'

Shane hurried to her laptop, adding a few notes to her ever-growing list. 'I will bake the cookies during the week,' Shane explained, continuing to type with gusto, 'But you and I are going to have our own cooking – well decorating competition, Thanksgiving Afternoon. Oooh! Joe can be the judge!'

By now, Oliver was feeling a little overwhelmed by the conversation, and made his way to his regular place on the couch, sinking into the soft leather with a sigh. He noticed that Shane had abandoned her laptop for the moment, and had instead taken up her phone, her fingers flying.

'I'm texting your Dad,' she explained. 'The Second Annual O'Toole Thanksgiving Cookie Decorating Competition' is a go. This year, prizes will be awarded to 'The Most Creative', 'The Most Colourful' 'The Most Likely to end up on Pinterest', and 'The Least Likely to end up on Pinterest',' Shane declared excitedly.

'I just have one question,' was Oliver's careful response. 'Who or what is a Pinterest?'

Competition Day

Although it was only the three of them, the O'Toole's shared a lovely Thanksgiving Day together, full of laughter, love and of course, way too much food. All of this was just preparation for the main event - The Second Annual O'Toole Thanksgiving Cookie Decorating Competition'.

Joe had truly embraced his role as judge. He had even come equipped with aprons (quite garish, orange numbers, with 'gobble, gobble till you wobble' emblazoned upon them, a set of rules, and four very small trophies, one for each of the categories.

'Okay,' Joe began,' Here are the rules. No hiding ingredients, no touching the other competitor's cookies until the decorating is done, and no arguing with the judge! You will each need to decorate one turkey, one leaf, one pumpkin and one slice of pie cookie.' Your decorating supplies are all on the bench, and your time starts…now!'

This all went pretty much as everyone expected. Shane took the whole process very seriously, and was determined to create visual masterpieces. One cookie after another was decorated quite decently for someone who had very little practical experience, but quite a long youtube search history on the subject.

Oliver took the whole experience seriously too, but knew that the art history major had him beat. As much as he concentrated, he was aware that decorating, much like card-making, was not his area of expertise. Being extraordinarily competitive was, however, and while he attempted to create something from fondant, modelling chocolate and candy-corn, his mind began to contemplate Joe's rules. As he finished his pumpkin (which did look much more like a deflated basketball infested with snakes than a pumpkin with vines), a truly devious smile flittered across his icing-smeared features.

Joe saw the look, and thought that Oliver was about to get himself into the same kind of trouble they had experienced last year when they had unwittingly stolen all of the gingerbread Shane had been attempting to turn into a gingerbread house. 'This could be fun as a spectator sport,' Joe thought.

Oliver's plan all came down to timing. As Shane was completing a cookie, she was carefully placing it on a plate covered by a cloche. He had the amount of time it took her to decorate her last cookie to enact his strategy. He waited carefully until Shane carried the penultimate cookie to her display, then appeared to be taking all his completed cookies to the table to place on his own plate under his own cloche. To Shane, it appeared that he was spending a great deal of time arranging the cookies on the plate. Appearances could be deceptive.

Oliver walked nonchalantly (well there may have been a few guilty bounces, but generally it was nonchalant) back to his area, and began to tidy his workspace with studied dedication. His industry was interrupted by a banshee-like cry.

'Oliver O'Toole! You are a dirty, rotten cheat! Where are my cookies, you cookie-thieving cad!'

Oliver looked up from the bench, and blandly remarked, 'Is there a problem, Honey?'

'Don't you Honey me. Give me back my cookies! The rules said you couldn't touch them! Give them back!'

Joe could see the cunning logic his son had employed. He couldn't wait to see how this played out.

'Dad,' Oliver queried, 'Did the rules say I couldn't touch the cookies? I think there might have been a little grey area in the rules. A little room for interpretation, perhaps?'

Joe's face was becoming flushed as he tried to hold in his mirth. 'Sorry, Honey… the rules were a little unclear. The cookies were only off limits until the decoration was finished.' He watched in fascination as Shane walked deliberately to the oven and took the tea towel that was hanging before it. Joe began to laugh, tears of joy streaming down his face. Oliver had no idea what was about to quite literally hit him. Olive had grown up an only child. He had never had to scrap with a sibling. Shane had. He sister Alex could have told Oliver that Shane perfected the tea towel flick before the age of eight. Some skills never left you.

'Owww!' was Oliver's pained response.

Joe laughed as he heard Shane reply.

'Darling, marriage is the joyous experience of learning new and interesting things about one's spouse. Believe me, if I had wanted to hurt you, I could have. That was a precision manoeuvre that barely touched you! Your wife has mad skills Oliver,' Shane explained confidently.

Joe laughed even harder at Oliver's expression as he awarded Shane's remaining cookie with the trophies for 'The Most Creative', 'The Most Colourful' and 'The Most Likely to end up on Pinterest'. The rules did not state that a single cookie could not receive multiple awards Joe gleefully explained.

'The Least Likely to end up on Pinterest' belonged to Oliver's pumpkin monstrosity.