So this is how it goes the day before the $%#&*((^cookie exchange.
You curse your decision to be a part of a popular (read- must make 12 dozen) cookie exchange year after year. Like labour and renovations and everything that requires extra effort in a busy life- you can hardly stand the process- it almost takes you apart. You miscalculate, run out of dough, make them too big, burn them, over mix them and eat too much of the batter. Do I have enough pretty $%^&&* containers to put them in? Now I have to make dinner- even though I have been in kitchen all afternoon between work and chores? &!#@#$^% cookie exchange.
Time to put self into pants for %!#$$^^&* cookie exchange and they don’t do up due to yummy batter and tasting of hot cookies to ensure each batch is good. Oooh I am tired and would rather get into bed early with %! #$^%&$ cookies and milk. It is so cold outside. Besides I think I am coming down with a case of scurvy due to all sugar diet.
Then you get there with your big box and you love all the women and the cozy home of the host and then you take your wonderful variety of 12 dozen home and you have fab arsenal for holidays. A never ending ability to make an assorted cookie tray for anyone who happens to drop by. When they say “are these homemade?” You can say “yes” without lying one bit. Before they ask “by you?” -you change subject quickly leaving lasting impression that you are WonderWoman with Martha Stewart side.
I love @!#$%^^&** cookie exchange.