On unmaking dough

Me and my twin sister, like any other tween used to mount our beds before midnight- partly because we were scared of the dark and mostly since we had nothing else to do. However, one day we happened to crash at our cousin’s place for the night and we ended up talking past midnight, which was pretty new to us, since our cousin being six years older than us had always referred to us as “kids” and ghosted us whenever she could.

And even though we couldn’t really figure it out then, it’s safe to say that, that night turned out to be the start of a good friendship.

We had scavenged almost five websites, checking out top 100 to top 10 hottest guys of 2012. Though I must admit, it’s pretty embarrassing to talk about it now, it was the first time she had condescended to ” hang out” with us, and since we didn’t find any harm in it we thought it quite funny to make inside jokes regarding it, and invested our time talking about the episode. Now that we think about it, it feels pathetic than it already was.

The night had fallen and none of us were getting any more sleepier, so my cousin put forward this great idea. She suggested we make scrambled eggs and cookie dough, and told us it was a “thing”( to cook at night ( it sounded cool), and we didn’t know this ’cause we were brought up like baby saplings. So we thought it okay to follow her suggestion, though it barely sounded reassuring- as we rarely saw her (and since she too was just a teen then) we weren’t really certain if it was safe to let her operate the gas stove or infact let ourselves near the kitchen- yet we thought we’d give it a go.

Anyhow we set towards the kitchen and ransacked the cupboards in search of the ingredients. We found sophisticated looking tins with cocoa powder and vanilla in them, yet we lacked the provision of basic ingredients like milk, butter and eggs. Nonetheless, my cousin said she would make an excellent dough out of it and instructed us to either stand back and watch or help her in a minimal way, say like getting the spoon and such.

We did what she insisted and watched her conjure somewhat of a rock-like paste ( hardly a paste) out of it. She presented it with more disgust than satisfaction. It was brown and hard, and smelt like Pedigree (dog food). It tasted stale and plain. It was chewy and appealing in no way.

After a few more minutes of collectively adding in random ingredients we thought it best to throw it out the window (since, if we were to dump it in the trash her Mom would find out, and also we were almost completely sure that the dogs they owned would most likely hate us if we were to feed them this).

After we successfully completed this mission of abandoning it beneath a coconut tree, we responsibly cleared all the materials we had to use and eliminated most of the traces. Getting a bit tired at this point we decided to go back into the dining hall. While we were about to leave my cousin said ” I’m actually quite good at making scrambled eggs.”

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