It is true. I don’t bake cookies. Why bake’ em when you can buy ‘em is my motto. Actually, it’s one of many. One other is: You do what you can do. But I digress.
Cookies, yes, we’re talking about cookies. My personal favorite is the snickerdoodle. My little girl adores chocolate chips, but then again, she is a chocoholic. Case in point: She once downed a couple’s portion of a dark chocolate cake all by herself. Mind you, I said dark. And chocolate bars that are 80% dark cocoa? Yes, she can eat those too. In a mouthful.
Now, my little boy—he can live without chocolate. He likes a bite here and there, but that is all. He is more of a sugar cookie connoisseur. Gooey frosting and all. With sprinkles, please. It gets in his hair, behind his ears, inside his shirt, on his pants, the tips of his shoes, between the toes if he is barefooted at the time of his indulgence, and all over his cherubic little face. After I finish cleaning him off, it is on MY shirt, on MY pants, on My hair, on My nose…you get the picture.
My hubby cares for peanut butter cookies. He likes all kinds of cookies of course, but anything with peanuts lights up the boyish glint in his eyes. When I find the ones he likes, I treat it with reverence. No one else can have these but Daddy, I say to my angel who is reaching a crumb-encrusted hand into the paper sack.
Since my family cannot come upon a general consensus as to what kind of cookie we should bake, I grab my keys, head to the store, and buy the cookies instead. Less messes, less tantrums, less kitchen wares, equipments, and utensils to use. I smile as the cookies disappear under my nose. Nobody has to know that I don’t know how to cook.
No comments:
Post a Comment