What’s the first thing people notice about me? My size.

The six things I can’t live without: Butter, flour, sugar, eggs, oats, apples.

Where you’ll find me on a Friday night: At Summer House Santa Monica. Check the bakery case.

Let’s be real: Cookies should be allowed on dating apps. I guarantee this smooth talker — the apple oatmeal cookie in the front bakery at Summer House — is a better match for you than that guy with the two-word vocabulary (“hey,” “hi”). My first date with the cookie went so well, I even took him home. Don’t tell anyone.

That was two years ago, and I’m still in love.

The only problem with a monogamous cookie relationship is that you never quite know what you’re missing, especially when the dessert in question has attractive friends. But a few weeks ago, out-of-town guests were in the mood to eat too much sugar, so we took a walk to Summer House and tried one of every cookie in the case. Sea salt chocolate chip. Butterscotch. Peanut butter. The Rocky Road, bursting with marshmallows, certainly looked more impressive than my usual.

Was it? No. Were any of them? No, no and no. Love: reaffirmed.

It’s not just the size; all of the cookies at Summer House are monstrous. And they’re all perfectly baked, a soft middle haloed by a slight crunch. It’s the apple chunks studding the cookie that do it — substantial rectangles, baked until they’re soft with some chew, dusted in cinnamon. A perfect bite (which is most bites; they don’t skimp on the fruit) marries the flavor of apple pie with the texture of a cookie, my favorite dessert. Unmatchable.

My cookie is already spoken for, but I hear he has some identical siblings who are still on the market.

Summer House Santa Monica, 1954 N. Halsted St., 773-634-4100, www.summerhousesm.com/chicago

Twitter @marissa_conrad