This week was kind of hard for me. My bestie was having a hard week and when she hurts, I hurt. My best dudie friend left for his hometown of NYC after a too short couple of days. My boyfriend’s sleep cycle has been completely opposite of mine with no overlap. He too is having a hard week, and when he hurts, I hurt. For the first time in my life, I kind of want to skip Valentine’s day. Normally I’d have wrapped gifts by now to send out to my gals around the country and something for my parents, but I still don’t have anything and I’m babysitting tonight. The joke about me is that you know something is seriously wrong, if I, Food Fanatic, skip a meal. Well something’s gotta be terribly wrong if I, Obnoxious Valentine’s Day Cheerleader, want to skip Valentine’s.
So, last night, these thoughts and bad moodifers were pulling me down when I grasped onto the idea of making chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I had all the ingredients sitting around, including Ghirardelli’s chocolate chips. Great quality chocolate chips! Off I went, measuring ingredients and cracking eggs and being completely present in the glory of making cookies. I felt at peace. Things were going to be okay. I was about to have my favorite, chocolate chip cookies. I got my hand mixer and turned it on, within seconds, it. died. on. me. It’s 20 something degrees outside and I really didn’t want to leave my toasty apartment but, these cookies had now become the holy grail of fixing piss poor moods. Grudgingly, I sent my best dudie friend who happened to be online, a bitchy rant. “I NEED COOKIES. MY MIXER BROKE. I’M NOW GOING TO PUT ON EIGHT LAYERS OF CLOTHING SO I CAN GO OUTSIDE IN TWENTY DEGREE WEATHER TO BUY A NEW MIXER. BYE.”
I made the dreaded trek. While parking at the grocery store, Boyfriend called and we got into an argument! He caught me at such a grouchy time. I snarled at him. Why do we do that? Snap at those we miss? My need for homemade cookies was all consuming now. I bought my mixer and went home.
Determined, I resumed cookie making. I didn’t feel completely defeated, just defeated enough to be pathetically crying into the cookie dough. I mixed the dough, dolloped two dozen sizable morsels of dough on my pans, stuck the pans in oven, and waited the instructed 10 minutes.
10 minutes later they came out burnt.
Burnt.
I went to bed.
After screaming.
The screaming maybe didn’t help.
This morning, feeling deflated and defeated, I updated best dudie friend’s facebook wall. “Cookies came out burnt. :(”
Less than an hour later I get a phone call while at work from a beloved and famed Austin cookie delivery bakery telling me they’re in the hallway outside my office with a package.
2 dozen cookies ranging from my beloved chocolate chip, to butter scotch, snickerdoodles, and oatmeal chocolate in a happy birthday box, 2 containers of ice cold milk, and happy birthday balloon.
The card contained a postscript: “P.S. If you get fat, no one will love you.”
I know who gave me the cookies.
A postscript of my own: My birthday is in July.