But then I stopped. Literally years went by without my touching the electric mixer. My coworkers learned to stop working up a sweet tooth before staff meetings; I started bringing tortellini salad to potlucks instead of peanut butter pie; my family wasn't as excited anymore for me to come visit at Christmastime. Something just changed inside me and the baking stopped.
This weekend, in an attempt to clear a few more things out of the pantry before we move, I decided to bust those electric mixers out one more time to whip up some peanut butter cookies. (and a cake that got mangled and will likely go straight into the trash). I was a little rusty, but I still remembered what to do. The cookies turned out fantastic and I brought to work whatever was left after Jesse got to em.
This successful cookie bake got me thinking: how come I stopped baking in the first place? It's pretty simple and enjoyable, and everyone loved the results. Why not bring back the baked goods?
Simple. There's just no nice way to say this, but ... I stopped baking because we're all fat enough as it is.
In college, I used to bake a fresh batch of cookies every Sunday night to share with my floormates. People would crawl away from their studying to come grab a few cookies in the common room, letting the sugar rush motivate them through the last of their weekend homework. I felt great, because everyone likes having a couple of fresh cookies. I was a hero. And since everyone was either athletic or had an eating disorder, they all stayed thin despite my weekly assault on their midsections.
But now? None of us can afford that sort of fat attack.
Cookies at Home
Cookies at home are dangerous. There are only two of us, and a single batch of cookies tends to yield around three dozen. Umm dudes, that is 18 cookies apiece, with only a few days to eat them before they get stale. If I baked weekly, here's what would happen to me and Jesse:
Soon, stick figures are not sufficient to capture our girth.
And in the final phase, this happens:
You'll notice we are actually too large to even fit in the frame.
So, no cookies are baked for keeping at home.
Cookies at Work
I could bake cookies to bring into work. But then, I'd face THE GUILT TRIP.
Guilt Trip Part 1: Jesse is mad I took away all the cookies.
Guilt Trip Part 2: Coworkers in my department are mad I am tempting them to break their diets.
Guilt Trip Part 3: If I share the cookies with the rest of the floor, then suddenly that three dozen cookies (more like two dozen by the time Jesse and my department-mates get done with them) looks paltry and offensive. Only the first-comers get any at all, while the rest of the floor gets nothing.
Cookies for Potlucks
I've noticed that most potlucks seem to pull in about 60% actual food and 40% desserts, as shown in this pie chart (ha!):
This means a vast majority of the desserts don't get eaten ... which means they must be taken home ... which means we're right back where we started.
WE DON'T NEED TO EAT COOKIES.
WE GET FAT ENOUGH FROM BEER, THANKYOUVERYMUCH.
And here is a picture of a cookie looking excited about a very large beer:
And just to be an asshole, here's another picture I found while Googling:
And just in time for lunch! You're welcome. Also, I looked into how many points they are. it's bad.