That's not blasphemous, is it?
Today is cookie-making day, and while the cookies are long-expected among a certain demographic in my household, the cookie-making is long-dreaded by the cookie baker. I don't like to bake. I don't mind cooking, but baking just fills me with despair.
OK, slight hyperbole. Despair would be overstating the case. Dismay is much better. I plan for cookie-making day several weeks in advance, and when it finally dawns, I'm filled with dismay. The despair comes when the cookies are baked and I'm left to consider the wreckage that was once my kitchen. Flour sticks to black countertops like white on rice. Or flour. The countertops will be dusty until Valentine's Day, and I still haven't figured out how I'll dig the crusted cookie dough particles out of my keyboard.
The first batch is in the oven now, so I'm tempting fate. I'm not sure that my multi-tasking skills are good enough that I can time cookies and blog at the same time, and the idea of having to throw away even one batch leaves me quaking with horror and dread. So Merry Christmas.
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