She assembles all the ingredients on the counter; flour, sugar, eggs, peanut butter. A simple receipe that makes tasty cookies.
She grabs a big, white bowl and a spoon to mix it all.
She carefully measures each step, following the recipe exactly. Then she stirs. And stirs and stirs. Her mind wanders.
After I get these done, I’ve got to get a load of laundry done and get dinner cooking too. There always seems so much to do.
She looks down and the ingredients have melded together. She takes a taste even though consuming raw eggs could kill you.
Everything could kill you, she laments.
She pulls out the cookie sheet and quickly drops marble-sized globs of dough onto it.
She leans down, opening the oven door. Heat wafts over her face, causing her to close her eyes. Again, her mind wanders.
What if I just don’t make the cookies? Just leave them on the counter, unbaked, and walk away?
“Honey? What are you doing?”
She pushes the sheet into the oven. “Making cookies.”