Wife of the Year

I had one mission today: make 8,000 batches of chocolate chip cookies for The Canadian's co-workers.

In the States, making cookies is not too difficult. It's one of the few recipes I manage to do fairly well.

Here in Canada, it is the world's largest pain in the rear. My recipe is American, therefore calling for cups and ounces of ingredients. Here in Canada all the all the ingredients are measured in grams and milliliters. Not to mention the French labeling. Not to mention the bizarre brands. Not to mention the bizarre shelving assignments at the grocery store that I will never understand. What used to be simple trips to the grocery store are now enough to make me pull all of my hair out, bite off all my nails and have a minor stroke.

The chocolate chips look weird, even though they're made by Hershey.

Why can't they all just look the same? What can't we all just get along? And what the hell is a Chipit?

Whatever...I finally gathered the ingredients so I got out my glorious super-sized mixer (thank you, Grandpa).

I mixed and I mixed. I made a complete mess of my kitchen. The government may declare a natural disaster area tomorrow. Watch your local news.

I got my hands dirty, but fortunately I remembered to take off my rings this time. God forbid I lose a diamond in this chaos.


In the end, after countless hours, endless cleaning, and never ending expletives, the cookies were complete.

Wife.

Of The.

Year.