Sheri leaned her chin on her hands, which lay atop one another on the kitchen counter. Her eyes watched the minutes tick off on the clock timer. She had gotten the timer at the thrift and resale store in a fairly ritzy part of the state. It was a tourist town invaded by well-to-do out of staters who blew this way and that on the winds of fashion, so the thrift shop was always good for a visit when she was in the area.
She had to buy the timer because it was shaped like a chicken and she was crazy about chickens. As she watched the time tick away, she heard her mom’s voice in her head, “A watched pot never boils,” which she knew was true, but there were brownies in the oven, and she wanted one in the worst way.
Sheri would allow herself to eat one brownie. Only one. Because brownies were her contribution to the Fourth of July lunch, pool party, and celebration at her daughter-in-law’s parent’s home tomorrow. One brownie to make sure they were edible. She was famous for her brownies in the family, and she didn’t want to lose that reputation.
Ding! The chicken timer announced that the baking was complete. She took the brownie pan out of the oven and set it down on a cooling rack. She then set the timer for 5 minutes to cool before cutting. If she cut them too soon, they’d just ooze back together, and if she waited too long, they’d crack. Five minutes were just right.
When they were cool, she slid the cover onto the brownie pan. An observant person would notice that two brownie squares were missing. Two. No one would ever find out because she planned to stack the brownies onto a plate for carrying to the party. No one would count how many there were. Would they?
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