The unbearable pomposity of a book, or, how the cookie was had first

The Queen of Crab (Q.C.) is sitting on the floor with her eyes closed, face down on the coffee table. In front of her is a book, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, and a plate with a chocolate chip cookie. It is evening.

Cookie: Psst.
Q.C.: (yawns) Ah hm.
Grapes of Wrath: I don't think she's going to get up just yet.
Cookie: It's so odd. She was dying to have me when I came out of the oven.
Grapes of Wrath: No offence, but she's generally like that with most cookies.
Cookie: What, leave them out till they get cold?
Grapes of Wrath: No, I meant dying to have them.
Cookie: Then what's wrong with me?
Grapes of Wrath: No, no. It's not you. It's her. Or should I say, it's really me. Generally she has cookies when she watches television. But she was reading me, you see.
Cookie: You're that boring, huh?
Grapes of Wrath: I beg your pardon - I am most certainly not boring. I'm a Nobel and Pulitzer prize winner.
Cookie: Yeah. Bor-ing.
Grapes of Wrath: I should tell you that she was so engrossed in reading me, she didn't sleep last night. That's why she's dozing off now.
Cookie: Well then it really is your fault I'm cold on the plate, isn't it? What's she reading you for anyway? You look pretty dull. I mean, you're thick and everything.
Grapes of Wrath: Size isn't everything. She was reading me for my structure.
Cookie: Your what?
Grapes of Wrath: Structure. You know, how I'm written. Apparently I'm a fine example of a contrapuntal structure - alternating short lyrical chapters of exposition and background with long narrative chapters -
Cookie: Right -
Grapes of Wrath: - and the intercalary chapters are designed to be pace changers, with the rhythms and symbols of poetry intended to open up the reader.
Cookie: OK, I think I see what you're saying. Basically, you're bor-ing.
Grapes of Wrath: There's no need to be rude just because you don't understand what I'm saying.

Q. C. turns her face sidewards and rubs her eyes. She remains slumped forward with her eyes closed.

Cookie: Do you think she'll have me after she wakes up?
Grapes of Wrath: I suppose she might. But then, she is meant to cut down on sugar during her You-Know-What. So you never know.
Cookie: Oh. What'll happen to me then?
Grapes of Wrath: Relax. She'll probably give you to M. and they will share you.
Cookie: Do you get shared?
Grapes of Wrath: Oh no. Never. Some things are just not meant to be shared, you know?
Cookie: That's probably because you're too boring to share.
Grapes of Wrath: It's a pity I have to waste my time talking to a philistine like you. As a matter of fact, she does not like sharing me with other people because I am a book. And a book is a personal matter. Just as you would never share underwear, so you would not share a book. It has too much personal time embedded in it- to let someone else read one's book would be like letting a stranger see your intimate hairs inside an undergarment. Do you see what I mean?

Q. C. moves her head from the side to facing front. She rubs her eyes with both hands then yawns. Her eyes are open.

Q.C.: Bh- uer? Er? Where am I? Oh. Damn book. So friggin' long.

She takes the cookie from the plate and crams most of it into her mouth.

Q.C.: Oh my God. These cookies are just so good. Mm. I'm going to make M. do a summary of this damn book. So friggin' long. Hopefully he's read this thing.

She pushes the book off the coffee table onto the floor.