My sweet tooth was screamin' this afternoon. And I mean SCREAMIN'. It was out of control. Who controls sweet teeth? I need to have a word with them. (Self-control? Never heard of it.) Anyway, I was scanvenging in the kitchen (I'm in a competition with myself to see how long I can go without grocery shopping. Currently at a little over three weeks. Hence the scavenging.) Anyway, I was scavenging and coming up empty. No ice cream. No popsicles. Not even any chocolate chips (that's pretty much a sin in my household).
I started to get anxious. My heart was racing. I was short of breath. My palms were sweaty. OK, not really, but it was a pretty serious moment.
And that's when it happened. I spotted a package of pre-made cookie dough in the back of the freezer that someone had brought over when Drew was born. (Cue choir of angels singing "Hallelujah".)
But I knew I needed to do more than just through those bad boys on a cookie sheet and toss them in the oven. This sweet tooth meant business. So I grabbed my handy-dandy kitchen scissors (quite possibly my favorite kitchen tool - I have three of them) and got to work. I cut each cookie into fourths.
Then I put them on a cookie sheet and baked them.
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