I set out some butter to soften while I got lunch ready. I put the butter on the stove because the counter may or may not have still been cluttered with dirty dishes (I made myself a deal that I couldn't mix the cookies until the dishes were done). I then proceeded to fix Chloe a hot dog. In. the. oven. Yeah.
I didn't think about it, and I might have possibly forgot to turn the oven off...so when I returned an hour or so later to do the dishes and checked on my butter....it was liquid.
Back to square-one.
This time I put the butter on the (now clean) counter and waited
The first batch came out perfect. Mmmmmm I can still smell them.
I put the second batch in the oven, set the timer, then took Jessie the cow-dog out to potty.
She sniffed some more.
Suddenly I heard a banging at the living room window. I looked up to see Chloe. I smiled and waved at her, but my smile quickly faded as I noticed her flailing her arms.
"MOM! THE COOKIES!!!!" she yelled at me, eyes wide.
*expletive! expletive! expletive!*
I dragged poor Jessie in by the collar and ran for the oven.
Too late. The weren't black or anything, and I'm sure there's some teenage boy or starving Ethiopian who would find them delicious, but to me, to the girl with such cookie skills, they were useless. Dog food.
Defeated, I loaded my pan with the final dozen and popped them in. As the timer beeped I reached in to pull them out, trying not to focus on my loss, but on the fact that I had twenty-four perfect cookies.
That was the sound of the skin burning off my thumb.
I usually enjoy sending out samples of my delicious cookies for others to