Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar

I have been baking cookies as a good innkeeper should.

A lot of cookies.

Now I thought that after the first batch or two I would get sick of the sugar rush/crash bam bow boom to my brain half an hour after scraping the bowl of peanut buttery dough and shoving bits and pieces into my mouth, that I would overdo the sweets thing and move on to, say, attacking the fruit bowl on the counter or the attractively packaged mixed baby greens in the overflowing fridge. Because its not just the dough, its the finished crispy crunchy or chewy cookies too, and I feel like at some point in my life I was able to pass by the cookie jar without unscrewing and reaching in.

But no. Maybe because its still cold outside or because I feel I need to sample each recipe or because I think that raking sticks on the lawn for 20 minutes= 1 cookie. 2 hours of raking = 120 minutes = 6 cookies, and so on and so forth and their goes my jeans size up a notch.

The cookies are for guests and though I have made dozens of cookies we have officially had one set of guests. A family of four. And I don't think they had any cookies. But the cookie jars are depleted and filled and depleted again and its not just me. No, I am a polite host and I drag out the cookie jar for anyone who stops by to chat or gossip or inform. As in they say, "Did you hear..." and I say during the appropriate pause, "Have a cookie" and then they continue to excitedly tell the island goings-on with crumbs clinging to their lips.

So its a win win, I stay inside baking all day and people come to me to eat the fruits (sugar) of my labor and catch me up about what happens beyond my twin Viking oven clad kitchen.
But sometimes I join in on having a cookie, for comraderie.

I mean, just to make sure the recipe is still OK.