Pocket Wine Snob

yes, an oven. may it rest in pieces. in my quest to honor my heroes, today i made cookies for the veterans that frequent the pharmacy i work in. so, i made 6 dozen cookies, and threw 2 dozen out. why? because my oven had a seizure and progressively continued to increase in heat until it was no longer at the 325 degree preset. by the time i pulled my blackened (nope, not the yummy cajun kind) rocky road cookies out of the oven, the internal thermometer in that stupid hot box read 550 degrees. what happened?!? hence my severe frustration. this adventure lead me to believe i have married a saint. while most husbands would overreact with wild amounts of fear, my darling husband laughed when he received this text message this morning: “the apartment smells like i had a cookie bonfire in it, which i TECHNICALLY! didn’t. also, i hate that oven.” my patient spouse is the best roommate ever. so anywho… now i’m stuck with the smell of scorched cookies, and no matter what i do, it WILL NOT GO AWAY. ps… that smell is not as good as one would hope. so, bummer. please, someone tell me what to do with 24 giant, dark black rocky road cookies, or that awful smell that has filled our tiny apartment!