The Cookie Police

Persistence and I are making cookies tonight. She mixed them up while I sat on the couch and then I scooped them onto the pans while I sat on the couch and now I'm writing about them while I sit on the couch.

Actually I have to get up to take the pans out of the oven because no one else in the family is smart enough to figure out when the cookies are done. You can't just set a timer for cookies because each pan cooks differently and they must be taken out at precisely the right moment to be a tiny bit crisp on the edges but slightly undercooked in the middle. If it's not done right then the entire pan is ruined and can be fed to the chickens, I mean children, as far as I'm concerned.

I had the perfect amount of cookie dough to symmetrically fill three big pans and one small pan and then Stranger messed everything up by eating two of the cookie dough balls on the small pan. He didn't even try to look sorry when I accused him, "You ate TWO cookies???"

"Yes, I did. How many are you going to eat?" he replied.

"Twelve!!!"

But at least I have the decency to wait until they are cooked before I eat an indecent amount of cookies!

The real problem here is that my family grosses me out because they eat raw dough. They'll eat bread dough, cookie dough, cake batter, anything. Don't tell me you do it because then I will have to be mad at you too. I used to tell my kids that they couldn't eat the raw cookie dough because they could get sick from the eggs. If we only had our own chickens then we could know for sure that they were healthy and then we could eat raw eggs and raw cookie dough. But then we got our own chickens and it still makes me queezy. It's not like I've never eaten raw cookie dough before but watching other people do it is too much for me.

I think my aversion to it started when I first saw Stranger's (now passed away) Grandmother eating raw hamburger meat out of the frying pan. That was when I knew I was going to have problems in this family. (Luckily Stranger doesn't eat raw meat, just the baked goods.) Things are fine as long as the kids and I are cooking because I'm the boss and I can tell them to keep their hands out of things until they are cooked. But then Stranger shows up and he and the kids start ... I can't even type it, it is so gross.

Well, it's late and the cookies are done. I haven't quite eaten twelve of them yet so I need to get to work.