About two weeks ago while making x-rated cookies for Toby Joe I had a brilliant brainstorm. I decided it’d be a wonderful idea to make leg lamp cookies for all my faraway friends. I started out using gingerbread. The first batch turned out OK. I hand cut them all. The ones you see below were drawn using a knife. It took a while for each cookie. Plus, the dough got stuck to the countertop no matter how much flour I used. And finally, I kind of ruined them using blue ink for the fishnet pantyhose, but otherwise, they worked. And they’re sturdy bitches, too.

I wanted to get more creative. Nico, the baked good goddess, the woman who not only constructed the most amazing bride and groom’s cake for Toby Joe and my wedding party but drove it from Philadelphia, P.A. all the way to Washington, D.C. suggested I get black icing or a black writing tool for the next batch. On Friday of last week, I trekked out to New York Cake Supplies and purchased some tools. I was all set. Now, all we had to do was find a way to construct a customized cookie cuter. Toby and I hit Lowes and purchased metal ribbon and a few tools to bend it into shape. Toby made me two cookie-cutters. (I gotta tell ya, I’m hard to live with and probably don’t tell Toby Joe this enough, but he’s an amazing and patient man. I need to thank him for his help. Somehow.)

I used a gingerbread recipe again. And this time, the cookies spread. The women were plump. And while we all like a full-figured woman, they just didn’t look like leg lamps any longer. This would not do. Even Toby’s constant reminders couldn’t set my mind at ease.

“They’re cookies! COOKIES! You can’t expect perfection from a cookie!”

“But these look horrible! You can’t even tell what they are! I must find the answer.”

On Saturday morning, I woke up fresh. I called my mother in search of a more precise cookie recipe. I needed something easy to cut, and one that wouldn’t spread so much while cooking. Also, I needed something that wouldn’t necessarily fall apart. She had an excellent suggestion. I mixed the dough and went at it again.

The cookies looked great. I was happy. Even after decorating them, they still looked good. And they taste wonderful! They have a hint of citrus. I love them. On Monday, I began to box them up. All I had to do now was make one more type of cookie, chocolate chip, and my cookie boxes would be ready to ship.

Last night, after the party, I got home and made the chocolate chip cookies. The previous batches of cookies had been separated into baggies to ensure freshness and to avoid influencing one another. You can’t have a bunch of Leg Lamp Ladies fraternizing with a bunch of gingerbread men beneath the soft glow of electric sex. So, I segregated the cookies. I put them in boxes padded with a massive amount of tissue paper. The boxes have been stacked lightly on our kitchen table since. The only interaction they had was that one time that our Orangemani Terrorist from Orangemanistan decided to tip the boxes over. Which wasn’t that big of a deal especially considering the abuse I have seen parcels go through in the care of a local mailperson. I decided to check the boxes. I figured that if they were still in once piece, I’d be safe. I figured that at least ONE of the cookies would make it through the mail, right? RIGHT?!

(You all know where this is going.)

Every last one of the leg lamp cookies, the cookies that took me weeks to perfect, was broken. It was as if a serial killer checked into my boxes over night. Hannibal Lector himself couldn’t have done a better job. The feet were removed from the ankles. The thighs broke off below the lampshade. My ladies had been dismembered.

Fragile. indeed. I’m heartbroken. Really. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?