At the bakery, per North Dakota health department standards, all things placed in the cooler must be dated and labeled. I had mixed up some gingerbread dough for cookies that I’d be making the next day. After wrapping the dough in plastic wrap, I began to write the required information on a sticky note.
Perhaps it was the Christmas spirit, but I felt like putting a bit more into the note than the basic facts.
I could have merely put “gingerbread dough.” Or, “lump of gingerbread dough.”
But no.
This wasn’t a pile of dough.
This was a pile of potential. Several dozen, in fact, waiting for someone to bite their heads off. Even filled with spice, though, they’re still just cookie cutter creations, not unique from the rest on the pan.
We are all screaming to exist, aren’t we?
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You know, it’s funny posts like this one that cause you to earn the big bucks blogging. Thanks for the laugh (and the more serious thought at the end).
It was after the phrase “earn big bucks blogging” that I choked.
You’re a funny guy, Will.
Well, at least the choking didn’t do you in. As you know, what doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger (at least that’s what “they” say).
Yes, Juls, but does anyone hear us?