I dont bake. If you know me, you absolutely know this is true. Hell, you know I'm not even allowed in the kitchen as I may melt something to the stove or actually burn the house down.
Recently though, to support our favorite neighbor girl who sings, cheerleads, tracks it up, rocks at anything she does (you know who you are Goat), we bought a couple buckets of frozen cookie dough. And while there is no way the two of us can eat that much cookie dough, we figured we had enough holiday, family stuff coming up to take cookies to.
So today we had lunch planned at mom's house, and so I thought we'd make up a batch. When we arrived it was hectic and there was dessert bread made too, so I pulled the bag of cookies out and stuck them in a corner on the counter...and subsequently forgot about them.
At about 7:30 this evening little sister Facebooks me:
Did you bring cookies to mom's house and leave them?
I thought oh shit and confirmed we had.
At 7:45 little sister calls the husband:
Did you guys bring cookies to mom's and leave them without telling anyone?
The husband once again confirms it was us.
At 7:46 sister #2 texts me:
Did you leave cookies at mom's house?
Once again I confirm.
I finally call mom.
Apparently mom and dad found the bag of cookies after we left. Little sister is napping and they wonder where they came from. They rule out sister #2 as she has a 1-year-old, and they figure there is no way she baked cookies. They rule me out as...well, you read the above. So they figure they must have been leftovers from a party little sister was at last night.
Little sister gets up from her nap to find mom and dad having coffee and cookies.
Mom and Dad say:
Hey, thanks for bringing the cookies home...they're great.
Little sister says:
Uh, I have no idea what you're talking about.
Who knew 12 cookies would cause so much confusion on a Sunday afternoon.