The night before the Superbowl, my sister tasked me with one chore to do before she got home the next day. Take out the three bags of pizza dough from the fridge to thaw for cooking later that night. I don’t have a good memory. And have no talent in preparing food. So I was proud of myself when, that morning, I remembered to take out the pizza dough. I put the frozen dough on a plate atop the stove.
I picked up my sister. We went shopping. Hours passed. We arrived home. “I took out the dough,” I told her pointing to the plate. I felt proud. Knowing that my actions aided in our pizza dinner being prepared on time.
“Are you joking,” she responded, “That’s cookie dough.”
I dropped to the ground screaming, “Why?!?!”.