Snickerdoodles

This was a writing prompt given to my AP class by our super, mega-awesome English teacher.  We were supposed to write an essay starting with the phrase "I believe in...," and this is what I came up with.

            I believe in half a week old snickerdoodles (recipe to follow, unabridged of course).  First you must lug your crusty, unclean mixer from the moth bitten pantry to the kitchen in such a way that it digs into your belly, and you have to use a slight backward swing to get it over the peacock, granite countertops that have always been a little too high for your liking.  Next, you must sit on the oak stool for twenty-three minutes while you wait for an entire stick of butter to soften because you forgot to take it out earlier (even though you knew well in advance of your edible experimentation).  However, you could stick it in the soup-stained microwave, get radioactive waves drenching you while you stare, and inevitably pull out a puddle on a sidewalk of wax paper.  You plop it into the mixer and put on the rickety speed of four for “three minutes until it becomes light and fluffy” though you don’t actually know what that means because it has never happened.  Then, you pull out the measuring cups, making sure to not have a firm grip on them so that they slip out of your butter fingers and fall the foot from their shelf to the counter making an oh so satisfying clack as they bounce from the impact.  You skip back to the pantry and manage to wrestle both the giant sugar Tupperware and the colossal flour one into your somewhat short arms.  You hazardously waddle back to the kitchen and measure out two half cups of sugar (both whole cup measures are dirty) and two half cups of flour.  WAIT! you only pour half of the second cup of flour in so as to complete the imperative practice of saving half the flour until the rest of the ingredients have been thoroughly mixed in.  After that you must take on the Herculean task of pulling the sticky, brown stained vanilla extract bottle from where it is stuck in your pantry; again, with the height issue it is impossible to get proper leverage.  Once that is extracted (no pun intended though you laugh as you pull out the magnetic teaspoons), you must pry open the lid, often with a butter knife.  You measure out quarter teaspoon each of some mysterious white powders that could be crack for all you know, though the labels read baking soda and cream of tartar.  You begin quoting Spongebob in your head while measuring out half a teaspoon of vanilla, using the quarter teaspoon twice to conserve dishes, a habit you quickly picked up once your parents refused to clean your baking dishes anymore.  You put on the mixer, crack a cold egg in, drop some shell in, panic, and spend five minutes attempting to fish out the little shards so your friends don’t get accidentally stabbed in the mouth.  Then you put in the half half cup of flour and another full half cup mix that and take the bowl out of its metal lock and away from the violent, erratic paddle.  You dump some pungent cinnamon into a bowl and add sugar until the cinnamon no longer sinks to the bottom, which will take much more spoonfuls than at first anticipated thanks to the cinnamon dumping.  At least you know what’s for breakfast tomorrow: toast with butter and cinnamon sugar, classic.  You proceed to make ten thousand one inch balls of dough, roll them each in the sugar (usually five at a time to save some extra minutes), and lay them on a baking sheet.  You gingerly place them in the (hopefully preheated unless you forgot) 375º oven that has looked like the mouth of hell to you ever since you were seven.  Wait eleven minutes even though the heavenly smell will begin circulating though the entire floor of your house as soon as the timer hits six minutes left.  Here’s where you have to be strong, though it is like telling a woman in labor to wait to have her baby so she can be born on Valentine’s Day, you MUST WAIT AT LEAST TWO DAYS BEFORE EATING THEM.  If you are lucky enough to accidentally smoosh one with the oven mit as you pull them from the oven, you may eat that deformed one.  However be warned, they are extremely addictive (probably from the crack you put in them) and eating one will ALWAYS lead to eating another.  Your will power is not as strong as you think.  In the end it is worth it though; the flavors of a half week older snickerdoodles greatly out shine those of the warm oven fresh cookies that have been known to be devoured in a matter of minutes at your house.  Next time, you will hide some in your hollow book to be ravenously devoured half a week later.