There was a phase in my life defined by an all-consuming passion for horses, which spurred (<horse pun) me to seek employment selling baked goods so that I could invest a stallion or five.
I had little to no experience using the oven, but I figured all cookies are pretty much the same and no one would be able to tell where they came from.
I don't know how he saw through my genius facade but I was forced to step up my game.
They actually came out pretty gross. We hauled the gross lump outside in a wagon and waited for the loot to start rollin' in.
Logistically, we didn't think this through very well because we lived on the end of a cul-de-sac and the customer traffic flow was very minimal.
Eventually the mail carrier did drive by and we stood frozen with anticipation.
He actually got out of his truck to buy our cookies and we panicked in a wave a sudden self-consciousness combined with sheer joy, simultaneously ducking behind a bush.
I suddenly remembered that I needed to invest in a stable of horses and was motivated to step up and break off a chunk of the lump for the mail carrier.
After learning how many more dollars it would take to afford a horse I retired from my renowned career in the field of baked goods.
