On the docket: The baking of snickerdoodles!
I was determined NOT to eat any of the cookie dough, although if you ask me, cookie dough is ambrosia sent straight to earth.
I happily dumped the butter into the bowl.
You can do it, Barbara! This is going to be a No Dough for You Baking Session.
In go the sugar and eggs!
Next comes some cream of tartar. Despite its awkward name, cream of tartar is light and airy and mysterious like some women. These light, airy, mysterious women don’t woolf down cookie dough.
Vivian, my mother-in-law and a fine baker, told me once that she never ate the dough.
I dumped in the flour using her old scoop. Inspire me, Vivian!
Besides, I need all this dough. The snickerdoodles are for the after-church social hour on the lawn. I’m in charge. Weather is looking good. I want to have enough cookies.
And since I’m baking them for church, I’m baking them for God, so to speak. God probably isn’t popping dough into his/her mouth right now. God is doing more important things and thinking more dignified thoughts.
I’ve made it this far; the cookies are lining themselves up in the the pan. Don’t break down now, Barbara. Fight! Resist those churchly little devils.
This is where the writer betrays her readers.
This is where the photographer misses the action shot.
This is where the blogger disappoints her loyal following.
I’ve blogged about periods, droopy breasts, pelvic floor prolapse, and June Cleaver Envy.
But it’s my little secret if I broke down and ate a few good ole chunks of that delicious snickerdoodle dough.
I will give you one hint, one parting thought.
La vie est courte.
Life is short.