Every now and again Dave mentions that he wants me to bake him some cookies. He feels sort of picked on that I don't bake specifically for him. With all the food allergies in this house, I bake my signature eggless pumpkin muffins on a regular basis and on holidays I'll whip up my delicious eggless sugar cookies. The theme here is eggless, as in the six year old dessert fanatic can eat them. I think it's rude enough baking delicious treats in front of Lyla that she can't have, but it crosses the line to make egg containing cookies in front of my cookie loving allergic kid. It's rude. Dave still wants me to do it, but I always say no and that's when he takes matters into his own hands.
Before I went to the grocery store on Sunday, Dave reminded me to buy him some fresh eggs because he was planning to do some baking before dinner. I rolled my eyes but I did remember to buy his ingredients at the store. When I got home I put the new eggs in the fridge and set the old ones on the counter by the trash can because Dave was taking out the trash.
Dave starts his baking extravaganza and twenty minutes in, there are a million dirty dishes but he's doing his thing. He then opens the fridge and yells something like, "Damn it woman! Are these eggs in the fridge the new ones or the expired ones?" I mumbled a smart ass comment like, "Read the freaking date on the side genius!", and then proceeded to tell him that of course the fresh eggs are in the fridge because that's where they belong. Dave then blew a gasket because he had used the expired eggs in his cookie recipe. He was very dramatic about dumping his dough in the sink along with the "contaminated" bowl. He was really upset about this set back, but he decided to start over. This is where I get my mind blown. He now needs to use all new bowls, spoons, measuring cups and measuring spoons. He is now doubling the absurd amount of dirty dishes required for man baking. I only complain about this because Dave isn't entirely sure how to start our dishwasher. We've only lived here for three years and he hasn't learned how this new one works. I'm sure by next year he'll have gotten the hang of it. It is a two button process that the four year old has mastered but it can be really complex.
If I watched him bake in slow motion, I still wouldn't be able to figure out why he makes such a huge mess. It's like he can't possibly be expected to measure flour in the same measuring cup that he used for sugar. That would be gross! He also seemed alarmed that our flour is unbleached. He was hoping I had a bag of bleached flour hidden away in case of emergencies. I don't understand this dude or his methods. The good news is that the cookies turned out really good. The bad news (for my belly) is that the cookies turned out really good. I'm going to ask Dave to put them somewhere up high and out of my reach. This is a major plus side of being short. If I have to climb up onto the counter to reach the sweets, I'll usually just stay away from them. Out of sight, out of mind.