d-o-u-g-h-n-u-t

Sent from my iPhone, bitches.

The blurry pastry pictured above is called a donut muffin (I just tried several times to properly spell donut in that last sentence but ultimately could not figure it out and settled on the convenience-store spelling. Seriously though: Donought? What makes this especially ironic/pathetic/frightening is that the photo above was taken a couple hours ago at my one-day-a-week proofreading job. Dounghut?). Do you know what a donut muffin is? It is delicious. It is cinnamon-y. It is sugary. It is cake-y, yet also fluffy. It is one hundred times better than the whole wheat muffins (which I just spelled m-u-f-f-i-n-g-s, but that was more of a typo than a complete loss of mind) I made this weekend and will tell you about later when I have learned to spell. For now, I'm going to bed, where I'm pretty sure visions of donut muffins will dance in my head.

last day in sarasoda

Sarasoda is what the yachtsman and I are going to call our business when we move to Florida and become rich, fat entrepreneurs who eat donuts every morning for breakfast before heading to our office at the beach. Our money-making enterprise may be a gourmet soda pop company, or it's possible that we'll manufacture sodium bicarbonate. What matters is that we've settled on a name and soon will no longer have to shovel snow.


See you back in Vermont...

if only

It's been a big day. There were donuts. We left the pool and went to the beach.

Did you come here expecting a recipe for sweet potato blah blah blah or tips for the stress-free preparation of a holiday feast? Because I don't like Thanksgiving food (nasty bird, heavy sides, pie), but I can tell you how to have a stress-free day.

Donuts.

The beach.

Have a good one, pilgrims.