Some interminible period of scooping, leveling, pouring, mixing, and dithering later, the human female is reasonably sure she has put in eight cups of flour. The dough seems awfully soft and sticky, but it’s supposed to be that way at this point.
Sigyn, if you fall into that, I’m not sure if it will be easier to clean you off or let you be and summon a doppelganger.
Just kidding! You’re irreplaceable and I love you.
Now the dough gets to rest for three hours in the freezer or over night in the fridge. Since I want cookies TODAY, freezer it is.
Covered with plastic wrap, it can be walked on. (stompity, stompity, stomp.) Footprints are fun!
Because the human female is too bone idle to roll and cut cookies, she and Sigyn are making the dough into balls and rolling them in cinnamon sugar.
Be assured I’m doing my part, too.
About twenty cookies fit on one sheet.
They look like meatballs at this stage, don’t they?
Bake, bake, bake, bake, bake… Peer as much as you like, but be careful not to burn your nose, my love.
Pans and pans of cookies are coming out of the oven, one after the other.
They’re taking over the table, like a sweet little army of calorie bombs.
(thirteen or fourteen dozen later) The cookies are all made, so now there’s nothing left but the clean-up. Which I won’t do, of course, but I have nothing against supervising and making snide comments.
There is no centimeter of this kitchen which is un-gooped. Human female, sometimes I think a palsied gorilla wearing boxing gloves could do a neater job than you!