these dreams

My dreams of being an Olympic figure skater have already been dashed — now THIS, too?

I need a donut.

Oh, wait. I’m sorry. I forgot the tip-o-the-hat to Sheila here. Frankly, because I was too depressed.

6 Replies to “these dreams”

  1. (taking a doughnut, handing back the box)
    (removing mug from crook of arm)
    (taking bite of doughnut, nodding)
    “Damn good coffee…
    (sip, slurp)
    Made it myself…
    Want some?”

    I think I’m gonna’ be sick. Why can’t this dream be real? WHYYYYYYY?! This is precisely why I never became a pastry chef. The only reason, in fact. I’ll get all happy in la-la sugar-land; I’ll settle on a name for my bakery (“Let Them Eat Cake”); I’ll envision myself baking tortes and cakes and pate a choux, birthday goodies for pink little girls… And then my economist husband will remind me of precisely the raw data in this article.

    WHAAA!!!!

    (Doughnuts for everyone!!!! It’s on the house!)

  2. I know, WG, it’s sickening. Really sickening.
    We ALL want it. And I do that, too, come up with names for “my shop.”

    (But I won’t tell you, because, frankly, yours is better than mine and I’m a little bitter about it.)

    It must be real. SOMEHOW!

    And, you two have had a good run and all, but, obviously, you must kill your husband while he sleeps.

  3. But does he say anything about herb farms?
    Who’s up for back-breaking labor in all kinds of weather and perpetually smelly hands for a subsistence living?

    Me! Me!

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