I made chocolate-chip cookies tonight.
Which is totally out of character.
Were I a character in a novel, some reader would tag me immediately and say, no, she’s into into low-fat diet, exercise and healthy living — it’s totally unrealistic for her to suddenly bake chocolate-chip cookies. Even if it was just a half-recipe, from the one her friend read her over the phone in 9th grade, because they liked the Nestle recipe best and she didn’t have Nestle-brand chips.
They’d put it down to sloppy writing. Bad characterization.
Because, in many ways, characters in books are trimmed down to a few facets. So there’s no room for change that’s not relevant to the plot. My 9th-grade sweet-tooth self can’t play into healthy-living modern-day character. Not without complex layers.
Including layers of fat.
Which is why I no longer do things like baking cookies. But, one friend, who shall remain nameless but who David has named an evil influence, baked chocolate-chip cookies last night and I’ve been jonesing for them ever since. I’ma slave to peer pressure. Except most of the time. More of those layers.
So I set out the butter to soften, just in case. Sometimes it helps, to see the stick of butter and imagine that much more on my ass. Which is a direct proportion for the over-40 woman, if you didn’t know.
(As an aside, I recently learned that the woman in her 40s should have an orgasm at least every 16 days to be healthy and the 6os woman every 30 days — I don’t know about you, but I have that aspect of healthy living So, SO handled!)
I digress. To continue the story, David spotted the butter, I used to bake all the time, he knows what it means. I say I was thinking of making… but we don’t need … and he interrupts me with the mmmmmm noise.
Made it a done deal.
After all, who loves living with Healthy Living Woman? (Except for the orgasm part, natch.)
So, it’s cold tonight. There’s a fire in the fireplace and wine in my glass.
And warm chocolate-chip cookies.