(Add Whodini to anything to make the funk happen.)
I can't promise it'll be funky, but I can promise the following words were written in five minutes.
Hit that timer.
---
The timer went off and Tony came out of his daze.
Shit. The cookies are done.
The cookies represented everything that was Tony's life at the moment. If they came out fresh, soft, and warm, they would allow him to continue along the path of his life similarly. If not, well, his destiny was wrapped up with that of those cookies.
He didn't smell anything burning, just the heavenly smell of fresh, chocolaty baked goods. As he was about to open the oven door, another chime erupted. This time, it was his doorbell.
Tony's life also revolved around answering the door before the unknown bell ringer was able to push the button twice. He knew he was in danger. Cookies or door? Burnt to a crisp or his family suffering five years of mediocre inconvenience because he was unable to answer the door in time?
By the way, if you're thinking this is about his being afflicted with OCD or a similar mental illness, it's not. Tony was cursed by a witch seven years ago and even now, is realizing he's more annoyed with the fact that witch was an asshole rather than the fear of a practicer of dark arts.
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