I'm going to a Christmas cookie exchange this week. You know.... where you bring oodles and oodles of cookies, and so does everybody else, and you swap cookies, and then undo all of the hard work you've done at the gym all year? Sigh.
I'm making these cookies. I actually made them tonight, and they look pretty good. I wanted to make something my husband would enjoy testing for me- for, despite his protests and increasing waist size, there is no better person to cook for. I could serve this guy poopie diaper on a stick, (well, not really) but he's so darned appreciative of each and everything that I make- that sometimes it's a hassle to try and figure out if a recipe is a keeper. I finally got him over this phobia that if he says he doesn't like something I'll never cook for him again, and he still says it diplomatically, but you get the point.
So when I whipped out the pink kitchenaid tonight, Matt started groaning. He started grumbling about fatty foods, and bigger pants and jowls and old age- and I let him sulk on the couch until the first batch came out of the oven. Then he came jigging over, asking how fast the frosting could be made, and how long it was until "his" cookie was ready. Hah. Let's hope he still eats his beloved oatmeal tomorrow, and doesn't mooch my cookie exchange bounty for breakfast.