Cookie
Baking cookies, carefully measuring the ingredients but then banging in a little more of this, or that, because the consistency doesn't seem quite right (oh no, too much oats, well, can't take it out now). Then setting the temperature, setting the timer and preparing the next nine. Just nine at a time as I don't want the cookies to touch. Buzz, and taking the cookies out thinking they don't look right, surely a little longer, a little more golden. But no, a minute cooling and they have settled into their shape. And taste. Yes. This is what a cookie should taste like.
Like an advert of a young slip of a thing dancing, gliding between flowers skipping down the path towards the gentle flowing river for her morning swim, so it was that I fitted like a little bee between conversations barely time to tick the ticks on my chart, or count the inventory on my list. Just flit between conversations and sell, sell, sell.
