I’m not one to brag, but I just so happen to be fabulous at making baked goods. One night out of boredom, I chose to make one of my signature treats; my famous Rather Have Sex cookies. They are not nearly as good as my Better Than Sex cake, but I am a lazy woman by nature, and these special treats are really just good old fashioned chocolate chip cookies in disguise. The only thing easier than making chocolate chip cookies is making nothing at all.
To begin, I get completely naked. For me, baking is a freeing experience, one that should not be marred by unnecessary burdens like social norms or underpants. Then I limber up by doing a few toe touches and squat thrusts. You never know when a fire may break out when a stove is involved, and you need to make sure your muscles are in tip-top condition in case you must flee from your house in such an unfortunate event.
Next, of course, I break out the cooking sherry. It’s not part of the recipe, but I drank all of my gin the night before while daintily sipping on Alabama Slammers, and since liquor stores are closed on Sundays, I will make due with whatever bit of alcohol is at my disposal, no matter how awful or inappropriate it may be. Once you start to get to your happy place, you need to gather your ingredients. Mix flour, salt, and baking soda in a medium sized bowl and set aside. Grab two sticks of butter and test to see if it’s soft enough to use. You can tell whether it is if it squishes easily when you slam your palm down on it. Scrape the mess off the counter and dump into the mixing bowl. If you bruise your hand, it’s not quite ready yet.
Now, you mix in the sugars. This presented a bit of a problem, since I seemed to be out of white sugar. But I did have several packets of Splenda, which is basically the same thing. There is something inherently soothing about emptying out dozens upon dozens of tiny packets, each of which contain exactly three grains of pseudo-sugar. Half an hour later, I had my ¾ cup, and was able to continue on my merry way. So I cracked two eggs, ignoring the slightly unsavory smell, broke out my big wooden spoon, and began to stir like a mo’ fo’. Hand mixers are for pussies. But if you insist on using one, be warned…do NOT use the electric mixer as a sex toy, no matter how tempting it may seem. Mangled genitals are difficult to explain to present and future lovers, not to mention to EMT responders, and so rarely worth the pain.
At this point in the baking process, my bottle of cooking sherry is empty. I randomly open an out of the way cabinet where I keep the appliances I never use, and find a fifth of vodka. The seal is broken, and most of the contents have leaked onto the shelf it’s sitting on, but no matter. I add a little splash to the creamy batter, for flavor, and take a hit for myself. I gradually add the flour mixture to the batter to fatten things up a bit, and spill only half the contents onto my hands. When everything is looking splendid, I add another dash of vodka, a teaspoon of vanilla extract, and a half a teaspoon of almond extract. If the people you are making the cookies for have nut allergies, increase the amount by half in direct proportion to how much you hate them. Add the chocolate chips and you’re ready to bake this bitch.
Now comes the hard part; waiting for the dough to bake. I know from past experience that if I leave the kitchen, I will forget that I was ever in there in the first place. I need a distraction. So I challenge myself to a dance off. The only problem is, my kitchen is the size of a shoebox, so right in the middle of my sick version of the Chicken Noodle Soup, I back into my stove and burn my (still naked) ass cheeks. Yelping, I jump back and knock over the mixing bowl full of dough. Half of it slithers out onto the floor, which admittedly is kind of dirty. Mopping just isn’t my thing. Since there are no witnesses, I scoop the contents back inside and place the bowl back on the counter. It’s then I notice a slight burning smell… all my dicking around caused me to ruin the cookies! Frustrated, I turn off the stove, toss the entire mixing bowl into the trash, and remember why I named my snack Rather Have Sex cookies… because I am even worse at baking then I am at screwing.
Liliana Grace is Secret Laboratory‘s Women’s Affairs editor; her dream job would be sitting on her patio all day, drinking margaritas and alternating between reading and writing–and once she was sufficiently drunk, getting a massage from one of her several hot man servants. Visit Ms. Grace at http://ouischbabe7.blogspot.com/
Email Ms. Grace at firstname.lastname@example.org.