Why I should not be allowed to bake, ever.

Last week at Central Market I saw these beautiful mason jars filled with layered cookie mixes. Now, I am a very good cook, but not such a good baker, which is why I haven't attempted to bake cookies in many years. But this was a mix! And it was pretty! I scanned the instructions and saw that all I needed to add was butter, one egg, and vanilla. Surely I could do that, right?

No, as it turns out. I could not do that.

Today was baking day and I was very excited at the prospect of a batch of fresh, warm oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. I got out my butter and let it soften and then I added the egg, vanilla, and cookie mix. I put the first pan of cute little cookie dough balls into the oven, and ten minutes later I pulled out a gloppy mess. It was like one giant, thin, runny, sad cookie.

"What the heck?" I asked myself. I re-read the instructions. Soften 1 and 1/4 sticks of butter, add one egg and 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla, add entire contents of jar, and mix. "But that's what I DID," I said.

Then I re-re-read the instructions. Soften 1 and 1/4 sticks of butter.

OH.

I'd used 1 and 1/2 sticks. Because apparently I am not so good at fractions.

The second pan turned out worse than the first. The third pan actually came out as individual cookies, but still sad and thin.

Sigh.

I have three dozen flat, gloppy, extremely buttery cookies and a new resolve never to bake again. It's too humiliating. Anyway, that's what bakeries are for, right? Right.