Valentine's Day!

Well, the fourteenth was the first Valentine's Day Matt and I have had together.  I am highly suspicious it was our first of many.  Anyway, so the week before Valentine's Day, I ended up getting really sick.  I recovered for a few days and then the weekend right before Valentine's Day, I got sick again.  I got on the phone with my mom, pretty much hysterical.
"It's our first Valentine's Day together EVER and I'm walking around all sick and disgusting and I'm pretty sure I'm fat when I'm sick," I wailed, "it's not fair!"
"Calm down," she had said, "these things happen.  Just rest and quit worrying about it."
When I apologized to Matt for being sick for our very first Valentine's Day together, he was sweet as usual and said not to worry about it.  That was all Saturday.  By Sunday I was cured and had a fantastic idea as to what to do for Matt for Valentine's Day.  I decided I would bake him cookies (homemade from scratch) and frame pictures of us for him.  I explained my plans to my roommate and her brother.
"Here's the thing," I said, as I inhaled easy mac with red chili peppers, "I HATE baking.  HATE IT.  With an unholy passion.  Matt loves cookies and stuff like that so I will show him how  much I truly do love him by baking  him cookies."
"Let me make sure I'm getting this right," said my roommate's brother, "the more you hate something you do for someone, the more you love them?"
I contemplated that idea before I said, "probably.  You make it sound unhealthy though.  I might hate the act of baking but I'm sure I will love Matt enjoying cookies I made my very own self...if everything turns out OK.  This is going to be an interesting ordeal.  I'm not exactly...domestic." I can do many things well: drive in the snow, ride a horse, play sports, write good papers, swim, plan awesome parties, argue, and most importantly, drink margaritas but I have a great deal of trouble with any kind of baking.
So the next day I prepared to make a ton of cookies and then put them in glass cookie jars to give to Matt.  I decided to make peanut butter cookies first.  When it was time to roll balls out of the dough, I realized my dough was more like liquid.  Blast.  This couldn't be correct.  I read back over the instructions and saw that I had forgotten to add flower and baking soda and baking powder.  Duh.  I added flower and baking soda and realized I didn't have any baking powder.  I called my mom.
"How important is baking powder in cookies?" I asked.
"Very," she said.
"Crap!" I screamed and hung up.
So I drove to the blasted store and grabbed baking powder.  I added the stuff to my cookie dough but when it was time to make the dough into balls it was still all weird.  I tried anyway and figured the cookies would probably be fine after they cooked.  So I baked them and after they had cooled I tasted one.  It tasted horrible, like chalk or something.  The cookies also looked more like potato chips than cookies.  I gagged and decided to just start over.  So I started over.  This time, I forgot the cookies were in the oven because I got busy focusing on making the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.  I was right in the middle of chopping up blocks of white chocolate with a hammer when I remembered.  I took the cookies out and a cloud of smoke greeted me when I opened the oven.  I gagged and coughed and yanked the cookies out and saw that they were burned to a crisp.  I was highly annoyed by this and ready to just go get Matt a gift certificate to some guy store like Home Depo but was determined to accomplish what I had started.  So I started another batch of peanut butter cookies only I ran out of peanut butter and had to go back to the store to get more.  As I made the third batch of peanut butter cookies, I felt my face get all flushed because I was SUPER concentrating.  I popped my doughballs into the oven and this time set a timer.  When it dinged, I took the cookies out and was highly annoyed to see they were still darker, flatter, and bigger than my grandmother's peanut butter cookies.  They were all expanded out and had morphed together.  It reminded me of binary fission.  I took a spatula and broke them all apart and let them cool.  I took a tiny bite out of one and decided it was edible and figured Matt would just have to be happy with my very limited baking abilities.  I put my attention back on my white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.  Like an idiot, I had bought huge chunks of white chocolate instead of the chips so I had been in the process of smashing the chunks to smithereens with a hammer.  I finished that and dumped them and the nuts into the dough.  I mixed it all together, spooned little balls of the dough onto the cookie sheet and waited.  When I went to get them out I saw that they were burned.  I pretty much thought I might scream but saw that they only needed to bake for eight minutes, not twelve.  So, I made another batch and had to hammer more white chocolate bars.  This time, they turned out perfect.  I actually didn't mind eating an entire one of those cookies but stopped at one so my blood sugar wouldn't spike and so I wouldn't get a toothache.  I jarred those cookies too and then had to race to work.  After work I went and had some pictured developed and framed them, then went and picked up a heart shaped pizza from some pizza place my mom told me about.  Thanks mom.  I raced home, set up the cookies and pictures on the table, popped the pizza in the oven, and waited for Matt to get home.  When he walked through the door I nearly puked from sheer excitement (literally) told myself to play it cool.
"I made you cookies!" I shrieked at him the second he came into the dining room, "eat them!"  Yup.  The epitome of cool.
"Wow, I didn't even notice," he said, "I was busy looking at the pictures of us."  I decided he liked them.  I thrust a cookie under his nose.
"Hang on baby, I have stuff to bring in."
He went out to his truck and I started fussing over our pizza and making tea.  When he came back in he called me into the living room where he was standing with a huge thing of spunky looking flowers, a teddy bear, and a card.  He also got me the five hour energy pack I had requested.  I was thrilled.  I'm not much of a flower kind of girl but I adored these flowers.  I've always thought roses were boring and formal looking and I guess Matt knows my brain because he had managed to find the most cheerful, energetic, spunky looking flowers I had ever seen in my life and I LOVED them.  After he cut and vased the flowers and I read my card, he let his dogs in.  I cut the pizza and told him again to eat his cookies and decided he was probably going to have to be physically forced to eat them because he wasn't brave enough to try one.  As I wondered how I was going to hold him down and force his mouth open and then force him to chew at the same time without him tickeling me to death (he says he beats me at wrestling because he's stronger but I maintain it's just because he considers tickleing to be a wrestling move) I wondered how badly I would feel if he really did get sick from eating my creations.  I decided after all my hard work that was a risk I was willing to take and put his cookies on his plate with his pizza.  I watched him intently as he took his first bite of a peanut butter cookie.  I prepared for him to gag or puke.  Instead, he chewed and swollowed and claimed to like it.  I kept an eye on his face to see if he was being a liar.  I didn't see any signs of deception.  He tried the white chocolate macadamia nut cookie and appeared to actually like it.  He wasn't rolling around on the floor holding his stomach and screaming in pain so things were looking OK.  He ended up getting a handful of each cookie at bedtime and a glass of milk and chowed down.  I was thrilled and wondered if he was just trying to be nice.  He claimed to actually like them and he was still alive so I chose to assume things were fine.  So, our first Valentine's Day was an amazing success.  Woot Woot!