Moose in the Kitchen

Are you prepared? I don’t think you’re prepared. Go ahead. Take a minute. Get yourself a beer. Preferably 10 beers, so when you look at these blurry photos, photos that might make you feel a bit seasick, I can tell you the reason they look blurry is because you just DRANK 10 BEERS. It has nothing to do with my 1) lousy photography skills or 2) tendency to trip and land on things that are expensive to replace. Like the screen thingy on my camera that shows me what the pictures look like so I can retake the blurry ones. As you can see, I didn’t retake the blurry ones. Cause I couldn’t see them. We’ll all just suffer together. You might suffer more, because I have the fruits of my labors sitting in a cookie jar and you have blurry photos to gaze at while contemplating my mad baking skills and very poor photography. (Except for the five of you who are owed cookies. They were mailed on Tuesday. Or maybe it was Wednesday. I don’t know, I feel like I just drank 10 beers.)

You’re feeling drunk already, aren’t you?

I’m certainly feeling like the hapless bystander who got pressed into service by the royal navy and now have nowhere to go but over the side of this wretched, pitching ship. At least I have cookies waiting at the end of my stint, rather than a DD in the captain’s log. DD stands for Dead, Discharged – the only guaranteed way of exiting her majesty’s service. Well, that was the case two hundred years ago. It’s probably not legal these days. I’m not sure England even has a navy any more. I’m not interested in events unless they happened more than 75 years ago, i.e. WON’T AFFECT ME AT ALL.

Hey, look. I made a sand castle out of brown sugar. I’ll pause for a moment so you can regain your composure after gazing at my startling excess of creativity.

I was inordinately proud of this little stunt. Poll: Is my childlike whimsy charming, or merely a strong indication that I need a more active social life? Feel free to cast your vote in the comments.

Steps 3 through 6 were skipped because there’s fuzzy photography and then there’s “Dear lord in heaven, is she mentally retarded?” photography.

Raw cookie dough drenched in chocolate chips. Now, I’m not a mother but I defy any misguided soul who says their baby’s newborn face is more love- and awe-inspiring than this sight. (Don’t worry, the government is already hard at work to prevent me from reproducing.)

I totally take it back. THIS is the most awe-inspiring sight ever.

Chocolate chip cookies two minutes out of the oven trump squishy baby faces any day. Baby faces don’t contain any butter or velvety morsels of brown goodness. Everyone talks about wanting to bite their children’s cheeks off, but no one ever does. Family services is a pain in the ass. You can bite these round beauties with impunity. In fact, it’s encouraged. They don’t spit up, wake you in the night, or grow up to be delinquent and/or set on attending Yale. Chocolate chip cookies have no aspirations to the Ivy League.

Plus, they’re damn tasty.