Kelli's post reminded me of an upcoming task even more daunting than all of my end-of-term grading and administrative wrangling combined. For the first time I have been invited to a neighborhood COOKIE SWAP. If you're like me, this conjures up images of trips to the bakery, or unpeeling the bag of Milano Mints. However, apparently the cookies for the swap are supposed to be homemade. What the hell am I going to do? Can I bring my signature chicken parmigiana and just cut it up into little pieces arranged in ten sets of 1/2 dozen?
Last winter I had a conversation on the cookie subject around the RHINO editorial table. After much probing and reflection, we came to the consensus that I have never baked cookies on my own because I really don't like cookies all that much. I make a semi-elaborate dinner for my family every night, but desserts are not my forté. However, now that I'm pregnant again, cookies have become somewhat appealing to me. (There you go, Byf.) Perhaps this won't be so bad.
But I'm nervous. Already I can see the bottoms of those suckers blackening. I have a Ph.D. I should be able to figure out how to make cookies. Go ahead and laugh. This guy is: