All right, so they're not "real" cookies, in the sense that I don't actually mix the ingredients together. But, in my defense, I do still have to bake them in the oven at 350 degrees. The hardest part of the prep, though, is opening the wrapper and using a huge carving knife to cut the twenty-four squares so they can be lined up on baking sheets.
Really, this whole baking thing is a moot point. I still have a few Chips Ahoy cookies left, but the package of Nestle Toll House pre-made chocolate chip cookie dough is calling to me.
"Hey," it whispers, "you're dying for fresh-baked cookies and ice-cold milk. You know you are."
Look, it's bad enough when the voices inside of my head start whispering to me. Those voices I can ignore. But, seriously. Have you ever tried to ignore cookie dough when it calls?
DOUGH: (whispering) cooooookies ... cooooooooooooooookies ...
ME: Who said that?
DOUGH: Open the fridge. See that bright yellow-orange package?
ME: No! I'm on a health-food kick. Leave me alone.
DOUGH: You know you want me.
ME: My rolls of fat want you. Me? I want nothing to do with you.
DOUGH: LIAR! (pause) See the milk? Yeah, right there, right next to me. That's it, that's it. Think of its icy-cold, milky goodness. All it needs is a cookie. A fresh-from-the-oven cooooookie.
ME: No! Get away from me! Heathen! Loser! You're a bad influence!
DOUGH: Cooooooooookie. Cooooooooooooooookie. You're getting very hungry. Very, very huuuuuuuuuuuuuumgry...
Next thing I know, I'm under the Nestle spell. I'm opening the cookie dough, I'm separating the cookie dough squares, I'm baking the cookies, and, damnit, I AM EATING THE COOKIES. I do also drink milk (1%), so I suppose this can be considered a healthy snack.
Just don't tell my rolls of fat because I ate the cookies without telling them, and I don't want to give them any more ideas about how they can prevent me from fitting into my own clothes.
