I was getting fudge supplies, and T brought up her favorite cookies: the only cookies she likes, really, after a somewhat traumatic stint working in a cookie shop in high school. So we got ingredients for them. And today I made them. They’re supposed to make four dozen? I made two dozen, because I am apparently bad at ’rounded tablespoon.’ And making sure edges don’t touch. Like, I wanted to make these the way T remembered them enough that I actually measured shit.
And now you know why I don’t do cookie recipes.