Domestic goddess

Wal-Mart was packed with after school shoppers, screaming babies and the cute senior citizens in the automated carts and oxygen machines.
Maybe that’s why I walked by the refrigerator case of bake your own cookies and thought they would be the perfect solution to my family’s disgruntlement over the hours I’ve been putting in on the new book revisions.
My foray into cooking greatness has been limited to say the least.
I’ve tried. And my poor family has suffered. But with refrigerated dough, I figured I couldn’t go wrong.
I timed it perfectly. The cookies were baked to the perfect temp of done just barely when I had to leave to pick DD up from driver’s ed. I turned the oven off, left them in the oven and rushed across town thrilled with my domestic goddess moment. By the time we returned home DD would be treated to warm cookies, baked to perfection in the cooling oven.
Instead we returned home to the scent of burnt chocolate.
I turned off the timer but NOT the oven. 😦
DD wasn’t too upset. She just laughed and said at least I didn’t catch the oven on fire this time.

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