Dessert heartbreak

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ClaireMereClaireMere

I have a tale of grief and woe.

This was a long week and yesterday was particularly long. Folk longed for a treat after our son was (finally) gotten to bed. While Brian was in there getting the little man to sleep, I rummaged wearily around. Nothing in the pantry, nothing in the fridge. NO WAY I was baking something at 8 at night.

And then I remember - frozen cookie dough! Yep - we had the last bit of a log.

I eagerly sliced it up, heated the oven and stood over it in anticipation.

First, for no reason I can discern, I burned the asses off the cookies. What??

And, secondly, when I scraped the burnt part off (I have no pride) I found that the dough had apparently rested near a lone and very ancient piece of salmon. How did I discern this? The flavor. The PUNGENT flavor.

I had burnt salmon cookies.

When Brian emerged from the baby's room, he found me standing over the foul things, eating a spoon of peanut butter in which I had pushed a few chocolate chips I found in a bag in the pantry. We called it a night. Take pity on our poor selves! Not even a glass of wine in the house!!!

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