I was so pissed tonight when I went to make No-Bake Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies, aka Cowpies, aka Pooper Cookies, —and there was almost no sugar! In a fit of rage, I wrote “SUGAR” in Sharpie ink, many times, on the grocery list. Then I told the dog to shut up. What the fuck is so hard about putting words on the damned grocery list? This is, after all, the definition of a sin of omission. A Seven Deadly Sin of Omission.
There is no question that this is disproportionate rage. I suspect that there may be hormones prodding at me with sharpened mini-spears, but then I think about the dismissal that accompanies hormone-related rage, and that just pisses me off more. I am a good time today, for sure. Then someone messes with my chocolate therapy.
As I was ascending the stairway, laptop in hand, I was asked if I was “going up?” No, I thought, I am going down in a massive fireball, and if you dare to make a comment about “going down,” you are going to experience post-fireball nuclear winter of biblical proportions.
I believe that I fall into the category of “peri-menopausal,” which means that I get the menopaus-ish crap AND the PMS-ish terrorism, only twice as often. This probably is why going to work on Mondays feels like the Bataan Death March (in addition to the fact that I am a teacher, and therefore responsible for the Pipeline to Prison}. But, dude, don’t say a word about the hormones, because the result will be that I will, as the youngsters say, cut you.
I’m a good time, in case I didn’t mention it, or you missed it. .
I make up for it by making nice treats for the fam. Unless someone has used up the sugar and failed to utilize the list that could be employed by a lobotomized chimpanzee.
For those of you who do keep the most basic of ingredients on hand, here’s the recipe!