Author's Note: I have received many requests for my cookie recipe. I wondered what would be the best way to post this. I have decided to put it into a short story, and then include it at the end. This has also given me an idea to do more "One Shot Short Story" scenes of other characters of mine. I may, I may not...but it was fun to do it this time.
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One Shot 1: Strange Cookies. (Takes place around Mine...Yours. Part 5, Chapter 16)
I never really thought about what it would be like to try to teach someone how to cook. Maybe because most of the times I have shown someone how I do something they usually already understood the basic mechanics of what I am showing them. It was like trying to teach the concepts of geometry to someone who never had to do more than basic arithmetic. Actually no, let me rephrase that...an exceptionally bright person who never had to do more than basic arithmetic.
Dealing with a succubus who was curious about everything and really did want to learn, at least it seemed that way, is a bit like trying to herd cats cursed with Attention Deficit Disorder.
"First thing we need is the mixer." I told her.
"What does it do?" Lucretia asked.
"It mixes...uh...things?" I said in surprise. I thought the name was self-explanatory.
"What kinds of things?" Lucretia asked. She was sniffing the mixing bowl, and then licked it!
"Hang on there..." I said, taking the bowl out of her hands and brought it to the sink.
"You can't just lick everything!" I muttered crossly as I began soaping up the bowl and scrubbing it out.
"Why not?" She asked. I sighed. This was going to be a repeat of the industrial park, questioning everything.
Which, all things considered, wasn't a bad thing. I watched the succubus out of the corner of my eye and she was gazing at everything pulled out of the cupboards and pantry closely. Her fingers were tracing the packaging and her nose seemed to be going into overdrive from the way her nostrils were constantly flaring. The tub of shortening she opened and she stirred the contents with one black claw. Shortening stuck to everything and soon she had a clump of the white cooking product stuck to her finger. She tried to wipe it off with her other hand, and the nature of Crisco soon made itself apparent!
She began to growl in frustration as the white, oily stuff got all over first her cleaning hand, then her thigh when she tried to wipe it off. I began to chuckle as she kept on rubbing getting her legs and hands all oily so that even after the white of the Crisco was gone her grey skin had an oily sheen to it. She looked uncomfortable and peeved.
A very cute combination to be sure!
"Come here!" I told her, trying my dangdest not to laugh. She saw my face and hers seemed to cloud over as if she wanted to be angry with me. That disappeared as I took a warm, soapy rag and cleaned off her hands for her. I rinsed the rag, put a touch more soap on it. I handed it to her, indicating her legs and started measuring out the shortening.
I use tubs of shortening since it is usually cheaper to buy compared to sticks of shortening. Sure it makes life simpler and you can get more accurate measurements for cooking...but this is cookies. Honestly it's okay to fudge a little when backing cookies, probably why I prefer baking to other kinds of cooking.
All cleaned up, Lucretia watched as I measured out the shortening by guess-timation. I love that word; it so accurately describes a person's best guess estimate of something. While I was putting the measurements of shortening, brown sugar, and white sugar into the mixing bowl she picked up the carton of oatmeal that our sneaky rat thief had gotten into. I'd had to turn it upside down since the bottom of the carton had a hole in it. Lucretia picked it up over her head and appeared to be either reading the top of the carton, or looking at the oatmeal through the round plastic lid. All I know for sure is that for one moment my back was turned as I got the eggs out of the refrigerator, the next I heard a splutter of surprise and the soft sound of something falling! I turned to see Lucretia peppered from head to toe...claw...you know what I mean...in oatmeal. Some of it was even sticking to her in spots that were still moist from her earlier cleanup!
I started to laugh, looking at her all speckled in oatmeal as she had a shocked expression on her face, her eyes wide and mouth open as she looked around at the mess on the floor. She grimaced and tossed the cardboard column to the side.
"What do you do with the...oatmeal now?" She asked me.
"Well, it fell on the floor, so we can't use it in food."
"Why not?" she queried.
"It's not sanitary. You don't eat food that has touched the same place that people walk." I explained.
"What about that rule you told me? It sounds contradictory." She asked while I got out the broom and dustpan.
"Which rule is that?"
"The 5-second rule. When you dropped a grape on the floor you quickly picked it up again and ate it. I heard you say to yourself something about the five second rule." She explained.
"Oh, umm...that rule is if you know that the floor is pretty clean with you own...uh...feet? Yeah, I guess that makes sense." I never really thought about how to explain the 5-second rule to someone. I thought about how to do a better job of explaining it as I swept up the scattered oatmeal. I could see Lucretia in my peripheral vision examining the egg carton; she looked to be about to pick it up to examine it from all sides, and then stopped. She glanced at the oatmeal on the floor, and then the discarded packaging it came in. Then she just carefully moved the carton around on the counter.
Smart girl!
"What are eggs, Greg...they are babies?" She asked. I almost choked! That's one heck of an uncomfortable way to ask a question.
"Not those particular ones, but normally yes, eggs are where babies come from...I mean where baby birds...chickens...where baby chickens come from. We call them chicks." I felt like a parent trying to explain the birds and the bees all of a sudden. Then it occurred to me, as I watched her gently select an egg and cradle it in her hand as if she could sense it was fragile. No, this wasn't like teaching a child, this was like having a foreign exchange student. What I was seeing here was culture shock. New customs, new words, new food, new everything. She knew the language, sure...but everything was all different.
"What's the difference?" she asked, bringing me back from the direction my thoughts were headed.
"The difference between what?" I asked, trying to catch up to where our original conversation had left off.
"The difference between food eggs and baby eggs?" She asked, still examining the egg in her palm.
"Food eggs have no baby in them, they aren't fertilized." I told her, hoping that was all the explanation needed.
She seemed to understand, "They are not seeded, so they can be eaten." She looked to me and saw me nod. A small, pleased grin crossed her lips. Obviously she was happy that she was making the connections. She gave the egg another once over, smelled it, licked it, then popped the whole thing in her mouth and started chewing!
The expression on her grey face brightened, and she swallowed with relish! She turned and quickly snatched several more eggs from the carton and swallowed them quickly in rapid succession one after the other. I quickly closed the carton and watched in surprise as several lumps formed and made their way down her throat! It was like the bump you see in the belly of a boa constrictor after it swallows its meal!
Blech!
Oh Greg!" She gushed. "I can see why humans eat non-seeded eggs...they taste so good!" She patted the bottom portion of her neck and rubbed it for a few seconds. I am guessing her crop was getting a work out as it crunched the eggshells in there. Now I had a better understanding of why she had rocks, and needed those gold coins. It really was necessary for her to eat. Huh...I wonder if she still has a crop in human form.
I saw I still had half dozen eggs or so, more than enough for this batch of cookies. I handed her one more and said sternly, "You can have one more, but I don't want it to spoil your appetite for later...got it?" She almost took the egg, but after I said that she paused, considering.
"I will wait and see what comes next." She told me.
That surprised me, and only reinforced what I was coming to realize about her. She was smarter and more mature than I realized. Still, her child-like wonder about everything was darn cute!
I got the mixer going blending the eggs, sugar, shortening, vanilla and so forth. Then I turned my back for a moment to get the flour, salt and baking soda.
Why is it always when I turn my back that the bad things happen?
I heard Lucretia gasp and the mixer's whine stopped suddenly. I turned to see Lucretia's finer stuck in the beaters! I quickly yanked the power cord out of the wall and pulled her finger out from the machine. I wrapped my hands around her finger and walked fast, pulling my succubus behind me to the bathroom. I yanked open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror above the sink and pulled out my small medical kit there. I gently held her hand over the sink where I had the best light and slowly unwrapped my fingers from the area where she was wounded.
She was just fine. I carefully examined her finger, the skin was unbroken, and the little flecks of shiny black...something...in her skin were unblemished. I tuned puzzled eyes to hers and met her black ones regarding me in the same fashion.
"What's wrong Greg?" she asked.
"What's wrong? What do you mean what's wrong?" I retorted. I probably sounded like a child asking that but I couldn't help it. I had been scared to death!
"Lucretia you put your finger in a running machine, a mixer! You could have broken your finger or gotten it cut off!" I told her.
She scoffed at me. "That? That ...mixer is it? That mixer couldn't hurt me! I am a lot stronger than that." She pulled her hand from me and wiggled all of her fingers on that hand, bending the joints.
"Even if it did somehow manage to hurt from me, I repair myself quickly." She giggled.
"You thought I had hurt myself and you were going to...?"
Her voice trailed off as she picked up the medical kit. She casually stirred the contents with one sharp claw examining the assorted band-aids, disinfectants, and ointments. She looked at me, appraisingly, over the lid of the box as she closed it.
"You were going to help me if I was hurt?" she asked.
