It is my hope that as my family and closest friends, that y’all know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there is not anything in the world that I wouldn’t do for you and if I couldn’t do it myself, I would find a way to help you. Until now… Furthermore, heretofore, I will NOT, under ANY circumstances, be baking anything for anyone or any event. I apologize to my unborn children because this includes bake sales (SPOILER ALERT: future blog topic).
What, may you ask, is the genesis of this declaration?? You may.
I received an email from my friend, Mona, in which she asked me if I would bake some cookies for an upcoming sprinkle (baby shower for a mother who is having a second child the same gender as her first child) for our friend, Cyndi.
The theme, wait for it, was to be bow ties. I was commissioned to make bow tie shaped cookies. Bow ties, hum? Where would I find a bow tie shaped cookie cutter? I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to be able to find anything in a store, so knowing that I had about 100 cookie cutters in various shapes and sizes, I thought I could find something that might work. After picking through all those cookie cutters, I came upon this gem – a dog bone. This would have to do it.
As I am always thinking about opportunity cost (the one and only concept I remember from Economics class), I tried to call local bakeries to see if, by the grace of God, they make bow tie shaped cookies that I could purchase and save myself the hassle. Guess what? They don’t, which should have been my first clue to impending calamity. I was left to my own devices, but how bad could it be? A couple of tubes of sugar cookie dough, a dog bone cookie cutter, a little shape-shifting work with my hands and I could do this! I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Without giving you the full transcript of the conversation I had with myself, I’ll just say I lost my religion over those cookies. They were in no way made with love, but with the heavy hand of spite. I baked 12 or so cookies before my complete and utter surrender to the dog bone cookie cutter. I attempted to make the rest of the dough by pulling out the letter A cookie cutter and made some A-shaped cookies. A is for Atlas, the name of the new baby boy. I didn’t have enough time to frost them at my house, so I loaded up the cookies and headed to Mona’s. These cookies looked no more like bow ties than flower looks like a tree. They were abstract to say the least and you had to let your imagination do the work. I was hoping once they were iced, they would look better or at the very least everyone would want to eat them rather than look at them.
I arrive at Mona’s home quite frazzled, but trying to be calm. I gathered everyone and I made the same declaration as above. When I was done with my declaration, Mona’s oldest son, Logan, proceeds to announce that the bow tie cookies look like butts and Cyndi and her husband, Ryan, aren’t even sure if they are going to name the baby Atlas. In a fit of rage, I yell, “Eat all the A cookies, now! Do it!!”
My friends pull me back for the ledge and I finish icing the cookies. Everyone was really nice and said they looked great, but it was all lies. They were delicious, so really the only time anyone was looking at the cookies was to make sure it got in their mouth. A lot of pictures from the sprinkle were posted on Facebook.
The cake, the petite sweets, the mason jar drinking glasses adorned with grosgrain ribbon, the grill cheese bar and other accoutrements. Most everything was accounted except the cookies (well maybe just one). Truly, there are no hard feelings. Those cookies aren’t going on my resume and I have since sent all my cookie cutters to the great garage sale in the sky.
I have the best friends, even when they do tell lies.
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