Peanut Butter Catastrophe

So, I got a wild hair today that I needed to bake. I like to bake mostly because I like to eat, but today I really wanted to take a stab at making something from scratch. Since I didn't have a recipe I did what any woman looking for a good recipe would do, I called my mommy. For those who don't know my mom, she is a phenomenal baker. Like amazing baker. She puts Betty Crocker to shame. So when I started on this adventure I kinda assumed (really bad idea) that this would be something genetic that I would have picked up.

I attempted to make Peanut Butter cookies. Seems easy enough, a little flour, a little sugar, some peanut butter and viola, right? Wrong. My mom explained to me that I needed to mix all my ingredients together and then "roll the dough into a ball". Uh, huh right, because my mix would have made something that would be roll-able? Not so much. So I skipped that part and went straight to the placing my mix in little artful plops onto a cookie sheet. I realized at this point that I didn't have 2 big cookie sheets that would hold all my mix so in order to only use two cookie sheets (instead of washing one because apparently that would be too difficult) I make extra large cookie plops and put them on one large and one small cookie sheet.

No, they didn't look attractive like my mom's always do but I just figured that they would beautify in the cooking process. Turns out, that doesn't really happen. My timer dings and out come the most horrible, flat, bland looking disks I have ever laid my eyes on. These things are not delicious looking baked goods, they are bland looking torture disks. Since this was my first attempt at making something completely from scratch I decided that I should taste the fruits of my labor. Yeah, that was the worst idea of this whole process. Clearly the baking gene was not passed on to me.

Would ya like one? No? Huh, me either.

Its kinda sad isn't it.