Greg shook his hand in the air. “Guh, you wouldn’t think stirring cookie dough would hurt so much.”
“Worry not!” said Brigid, shoving her finger into the bowl and pulling it out covered in dough and chocolate chips. “Your sacrifice shall not have been in vain!” She greedily gulped down her prize.
“You shouldn’t eat raw cookie dough!” said Greg. “You could get sick from it!”
“No I couldn’t,” said Brigid. “It’s never actually happened to anyone in the history of ever.”
“Of course it has,” said Greg. “There’s the well-known case of Silas Gunderson. In 1874, he was making cookies to comfort himself after having accidentally slashed his arm open on a sewer grate while trying to fend off the diseased rats who chewed off two of the fingers on his left hand. Took one bite of raw cookie dough, and dropped dead on the spot.”
“What?” said Brigid. “That’s stupid. Even if you hadn’t just made that up on the spot, all that would mean was that he died while eating raw cookie dough, not from eating raw cookie dough.”
“Well, yes, but still. Better safe than sorry, don’t you think?”
“No, I so don’t,” said Brigid, scooping out another dollop with a large spoon.