Dough for dough

It is my Christmas tradition to bake cookies which I then give to folks like my doctor, dentist, letter carrier, neighbours, etc. Since regular readers know that I'm not particularly skilled in the culinary arts, it will be no surprise to learn that I make my cookies from prepared dough. In the spirit of giving to the community as well as to friends and acquaintances, I like to purchase my cookie dough through organizations that sell it as a fundraiser. Sure, it would be cheaper to buy the dough directly from the company that makes it, but where's the holiday spirit in that?

I used to call the dough company each year and ask them what charitable organizations in my area were selling their products. I was able to support a day care centre and some youth activity groups. How nice. A few years ago my mother informed me that one of her colleagues was selling the dough to raise funds for her choir. Without thinking, I went ahead and placed an order. I have been ordering dough from the same woman for the past three or four years, and it only struck me this year that her particular cause is a bit off the mark for me. It's wonderful that her choir is keeping well-to-do middle-aged women busy, otherwise they might be out hosting tea parties and getting manicures, but that isn't the demographic I had in mind when I decided to pay a premium for cookie dough.

Never mind. Today was my baking day. Somehow I managed to screw up a two-step process. Roll and bake. That's it. Roll and bake. Once again my mind inserted "drop onto floor" into the instructions. This time I didn't bother to photograph the fur-covered dough blobs. I did, however, take the time to photograph my favourite batch of completed non-floor cookies:

Cookies only Salvador Dalí could love