My younger daughter turned 17 yesterday, and, while this is the first year we didn't have a party, she got the gifts she wanted - The Mel Brooks Collection, a desktop replica of Big Ben, an Old Navy gift card, and a Link Larkin calendar (look it up). Since she's never actually cared for cake, she asked for a pan-size chocolate chip cookie instead. No problem...Pillsbury to the rescue. But when I mentioned buying the cookie dough, she said, "Oh, I thought we'd make it from scratch."

Alrighty. Those who know me well (including my daughter) know that I avoid cooking and baking at all costs. It's not that I can't...it's that I can't stand it! To me, the kitchen is just a place to store my Diet Coke. But I thought, why not? It's her birthday after all. And you only turn 17 once. (Believe me, I checked into it.) So I bought all the ingredients listed on the back of the Nestle's Tollhouse Chip package and we were in business.

The recipe asked for two sticks of "softened" margarine. Now back in the old days - when I actually did my best impression of Betty Crocker - I would set those two sticks of margarine out on the counter to soften. But it'd been a long time since I'd bake cookies from scratch, and I just didn't think ahead. So my solution was to melt the margarine in a saucepan.

Have you ever smelled slow-melting margarine in a saucepan? When I'm on my deathbed, I want that to be the last aroma I experience. Even if I'm under an oxygen tent, ignore the hazard signs and bring in a hotplate, saucepan, and a couple of sticks of margarine. If it explodes, know that I died happy with the silky scent of melting margarine teasing my senses. Hey, it's my deathbed. I'm dying anyway. Let me die happy...even if it's not in one piece.

Anyway, I dropped the two sticks of margarine in the saucepan over a low fire. As I stirred and watched - careful not to let the butter burn - my daughter continued to add ingredients into the mixing bowl, including the chocolate chips. Satified that my margarine couldn't get any softer, I poured the melted liquid in and...you guessed it...it melted all the chocolate chips! Suddenly my cookie dough looked like brownie batter. Once it cooled a bit, my daughter poured in more chocolate chips so that it would be a chocolate chocolate chip cookie, but I still felt pretty stupid about the whole thing. Why didn't I tell her to hold off on the chocolate chips until the butter was stirred in?

Oh yeah...and I was supposed to preheat to 375 degrees, but we had a weird power surge last year that fried that button on my oven, so now it won't go above 350. I couldn't help but think 25 degrees really wouldn't matter, but to be safe, I kept the brownie/cookie in about five minutes longer than the recipe said. I'm smart that way.

So we sang happy birthday and she and my husband each had a piece (I don't eat sweets, which probably explains a lot about my disposition), and they both said it was the best brownie they'd ever eaten. I guess it's kinda like my novels. They never turn out the way they started.

So okay, my daughter asked for a chocolate chip cookie, but she got a big ole brownie instead. The way I look at it, I gave her the best gift of all - a story to tell her own children some day.