Heathens
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December 9. Childhood: Tell a funny story about you from your
childhood. You know, the one that is always shared at family gatherings or when
your family meets your significant other.
My mom was always baking. One time, however, she made her famous sugar cookie dough and put a lid on the bowl and then put it in the fridge to chill. Just like all the other times. She and my Grandma Mensch were going to bake these drop sugar cookies the following day. Now, when your mother has a sweet tooth and bakes often, her children who inherited her sweet tooth often get to lick the wooden mixing spoon or maybe even the mixing beaters. Maybe even get a spoonful of cookie dough. And I’m sure we did that day. But for whatever reason, that time my brother and I were on that mixing bowl of uncooked goodness as soon as the adults were out of sight. And over the course of the next 24 hours, we ate that entire bowl of cookie dough. Spoonful by sneaky spoonful. We ate the whole bowl of cookie dough. All but one spoonful, enough to make one measley, lonely cookie. We secretly hoped Mom and Grandma Mensch wouldn’t notice and we were too chickenshit to finish off the bowl entirely and just own our gluttony. I’m sure our little brains thought At least they could make one cookie …
Kind of reminds me of that Hyperbole and a Half post, The God of Cake. Except I am not nearly as funny and don’t have any drawings. Damn.
The next day, I was in my bedroom, which was adjacent to the kitchen, when I heard the collective *GASP* of Mom and Grandma Mensch removing the lid to see one tiny sad ball of cookie dough. If I could have disappeared into thin air at that moment, I would have. Of course, they brought us both into the kitchen and so began the inquisition. They asked us if we ate it. And of course, being awful horrible beastly children, we lied, LIED, through our dough-encrusted teeth (I’m sure they could smell the sugar on our breath). We lied to their faces. Usually my brother and I fought like cats and dogs. We threw each other the bus regularly. We tattled on each other regularly. But not that day. Oh no. We were criminals and co-conspirators. We feigned complete ignorance. We shrugged our lying little shoulders. We stood in that kitchen and told them we had no idea what happened.
The whole scene was so absurd, my Mom and Grandma didn’t know what to do. They wanted to be stern with us, but they kept laughing and crying. My brother and I thought there was chance we might live after all. I think Mom and Grandma were awed, baffled and slightly horrorifed we had done such a thing. All that sugar. All those raw eggs. Looking back, I think we were not punished simply because of Mom Guilt; they didn’t catch us in the act. I also think they were so very thankful they didn’t have a pukefest on their hands.
What’s a great story about you from your childhood?
