Sat apr 3
Last month, I started out by talking about my weight.
This time, I want to talk about cookies.
I like cookies. Pretty regularly, Mary makes me cookies, and I’ve ‘trained’ her to make the kind of cookies I like: Crispy, crunchy, chunky, chewy cookies. (Not cakey cookies, please, and hold the chocolate chips, thanks)
The other day, the cookie container was down to its last couple of cookies, and I started dropping hints about what kind of cookie I might like to see next and, next thing you know, I’m told to fuck myself and make my own damned cookies.
Hrumpf! I took that last cookie with me and retired to the basement.
She’s right, you know. If I like cookies so much, then I really ought to learn how to make them for myself. How did I get to be my age and never made myself cookies? I’m embarrassed!
So I thought long and hard about what I crave in a cookie, and I googled: “crispy mocha almond brickle cookies.” The recipe was full of mouth-watering, full-color photos, and they looked like ‘my kind of cookie,’ so I printed it out, rounded up the ingredients, and pre-heated the oven.
Big mistake.
The recipe said: “mix the dry ingredients in a bowl and set aside.” And then it never mentioned the dry ingredients again.
The list called for baking soda. The directions talked about baking powder.
The almonds never got mentioned.
The chocolate wouldn’t melt, so I added milk.
In the oven, the dough didn’t slump, so my first batch gave me golf balls. The next batch burnt, and the last one stuck to the pan. They came out cakey and soft, with a smoky palate.
I have never wasted a cookie in my life, but the cookies I made gave me the shits, and I composted the whole batch.
In the end, though, my secret plan was a success: Mary made more cookies.
sat apr 10
Easter came and went, and nothing says Easter like chocolate. Like many couples, we are out of ideas, and we give each other chocolate on birthdays and holidays.
Which is why I’ve got a pile of chocolate eggs on my table. I threw a couple in my pocket before I headed downstairs (chocolate helps me concentrate), and I forgot all about them. After dinner, the cat sat on my lap while I read, and the chocolate in my pocket, caught between the cat and my crotch, melted.
Everything was fine until I reached for my keys, and came up with a handful of goo.
tue apr 20
I haven’t had a ‘reaction’ to a medication since I fainted from a massive dose of penicillin back in the ‘70’s (don’t ask), so I expected to sail right thru my vaccination without a problem.
Yesterday, I got my second shot. My arm was sore all night, and I’ve been whipped all day.
It better work!
sat apr 24
Today, I took a walk up the road, like I usually do. And I passed a couple a couple other people, like I often do. And on the way down the hill, a pickup truck pulled up beside me and matched my pace. “Beautiful walking weather,” the guy says, smiling.
Uh oh. I think I’m supposed to know this guy, but my mind was blank and it stayed that way. My mouth rattled off something awkward, and the guy drove off.
“Well that went well,” I thought.
I kept waking, and watched his truck turn into a driveway. Ed’s driveway. Hmmm.
Yeah, yeah, that must be Ed. We bought hay from him a couple times. Had to be!
No. No. Too young. Not Ed. Can’t be Ed. Nope.
I kept walking to the dead end and back, mulling over who it might have been, and then it hit me: It was the jogger I’d passed half a mile earlier. Looked just like him. Had to be!
I kept walking, congratulating myself for figuring it out, and then it hit me again:
It was the hunter who came by last summer. Looked just like him. Had to be!
To tell the truth, I’m still not real sure who this guy was, but next time, I’m going to ask.