My second post.

I was sitting on Brett's lap when I began writing this. He hates that, I think because it hyper-extends his knees. But he has since gone to change his shirt.

We are preparing to go with CTKniffen of the CTKniffen's Stage 1 Acting Emporium and Theatrical Bazaar to Carytown to pass out fliers. This is what I told Brett we are doing. What we are really doing is driving to Carytown, dropping Brett off on the corner at Can-Can and Chase and I are going to lunch. Chase and I are not of the ilk of person who are comfortable standing merrily on corners shouting and flailing at strangers while stuffing paper in their faces. Brett is. He will probably get tips.

There was a giant cinnamon bun on my coffee table this morning. Untouched. 

I went to the Dunky Donut this morning on my way to the Mill. I call it Dunky Donut because of a long horrible tale involving Long Island, engine coolant, Indian men and nosebleeds. This particular Dunky Donut never fails to infuriate me. Invariably you will be greeted alarmingly promptly by the person at the drive thru when you arrive at the menu. It is a high-pitched chipper downright pleasant voice of a young girl. She is positively tickled that you have stopped by. You then say what you want. You are then cursed out by someone obviously ill and Mexican for asking for whatever sort of cream cheese you have asked for. So you clarify as best you can, and drive round. You pay. You are then informed that today Dunky Donuts does not have either the sort of bagel or the sort of cream cheese you requested (in my case "scrawberry").  I find this fascinating. Yet I continue to go. Brett says the best way to get back at them is to stop going but we found a better option when one day while waiting to be offered a bag of Doritos instead of what I had ordered, Durron, Brett and I stole right off the pick-up window a round magenta sticker that says in yellow letters: "Our Scrambled Eggs Are Made With Milk." I like that a lot. Makes me giggle. 

I like Durron a lot too.