I made on Monday, though, and OH! they were good. Even Fred agreed they were deliciously, nearly-perfectly to the level of his mom's cookies.
Me = Satisfied
To keep my mitts, and the mitts of people living with me, out of them, I packed them up, put on a lid and didn't think about it again. Until I got the following text from Fred:
Pulled into work. Looked at passenger seat. It's FILLED with ants. The cookie container was filled with ants.
In my best Samuel L. Jackson voice, there are MOTHERF*CK!NG ANTS ON THE MOTHERF*CK!NG COOKIES! (Get it? Snakes on a Plane? Worst movie ever?)
Those little bastards somehow snuck into our house on Monday night and camped themselves out IN THE CONTAINER OF COOKIES and probably dined like kings until Fred found them crawling all over his truck seat. There was not a single ant on the counter that morning. And really, if my options are to hang out on Formica or hang out in a giant sea of cookies, I'd go for the cookies too.
Or, Cindy found out that I made a good batch and drove an hour up here and back JUST TO PUT ANTS IN THE COOKIES. She's plotting and devious, that one...
Needless to say, war has been waged.
On the ants, not Cindy. She's good people.