Now that I have a cookie jar, I feel like reveling in domestic stereotypical womanhood. When my children nap, I make cookies. When my husband comes home from work? He is greeted by the smell of the Christmas tree, cinnamon candles and fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies. Would you care for peanut butter or chocolate chip, dear?
And, yes, they are from a package. But how could I possibly resist when the package said it contained no artificial flavors, colors, preservatives or high fructose corn syrup? (And, yes, they were still good.)