Let’s talk about cookies.
Specifically, extremely delicious cookies. Hit your mother over the head to speed up the recipe-inheritance process delicious. Like, these cookies are so good just munching one causes you to lose your mind and wander into the wilderness for three days on a quest of self-discovery. They’re so good that Neil Armstrong punched me in the face just so he could steal one from me.
Unfortunately, I don’t know how to make cookies that delicious. The cookies I make are usually pre-made and pre-packaged and frozen and left in dough form on your doorstep so that you can spoon it out and put it in the oven and then go watch Kate Hudson films and drink wine while they burn without feeling guilty about it.
The good thing about cookies, though, is sometimes it really doesn’t matter how much they suck as long as you bake them with someone you care deeply about. Because then they’ll be made with love, and it’s kind of hard to complain about things made with love, because, you know, sometimes the people you care deeply about can be really grumpy (especially when their periods are coming up and they’re definitely feeling it already) and they might cut off your “privileges” if you complain too much. So you try not to complain, even if you think that powdered sugar frosting tastes like diabetes and that green dye will give you cancer. Because it probably will, but it’s not something you say out loud. You keep that bit to yourself until it’s time to blog about it, and then you go in for a CAT scan.
P.S. Kacy, this post was directed at you.