I picked up the ingredients I needed, assembled them, and popped them in the oven at about 9:30. The directions I had suggests letting them cook anywhere from 9-13 minutes. Being the safety first kind of person that I am, I went up stairs and kept my eye on the clock. I would be downstairs once nine minutes had passed. I knew the cookies wouldn't be done yet, but I like to be able to keep an eye on them for the last two or three minutes. After about six minutes, I began to get a whiff of burning cookies. Odd, I thought. It's only been six minutes. These things usually take at least 11 minutes.
I quickly went downstairs and was not happy with what I found. A complete batch of burnt cookies. Some certainly worse than others, but several bad enough to not feed a class of 10-year olds.
And those were the salvageable ones!
The thing that baffled me most about the whole event was not that the cookies burnt to a crisp in just six minutes, but that my uncle was sitting in the kitchen. I smelled the burning all the way upstairs. He was sitting in the room! He didn't call me, he didn't check on them, he didn't do anything but sit there.
The few cookies that were deemed edible, I put aside in a tupperware container. I told my uncle they were all his.
He thought it was a crying shame that my cookies didn't come out the way I wanted them. He felt bad for the kids. However, he wasted no time expressing his joy for the fact that he got the remaining cookies, declaring, "Looks like I am the winner!"
Yes, the winner. I always thought Jeff was the winner, but apparently I have been wrong!
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