Last year on Valentine’s Day, all gifts, celebrations, and events paled in comparison to an infamous labor of love (emphasis on the word “labor”). They took three hours and about half my sanity to make, and they’re all I heard about for the following three weeks, maybe even three months.
Heck, I still hear about them to this day.
See, it started when I came across a picture of the sweetest looking heart-shaped cookies on Instagram a week or two before Valentine’s day last year, and immediately I knew I would make them for my cookie-loving boyfriend as part of his gift.
Part of it — meanwhile, I doubt either of us could tell you what the rest of the gift was, yet the cookies get commemorated every other day. (I’ve been asked at least a dozen times in the last year when I’ll be making these little devils again.) Little did I know they would become the bane of my existence.