magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

When I was a kid, we would get fresh baked doughnuts every Sunday morning from what I remember as a deli, although it may have been a bakery and later went out of business and became a florist, on West Main Street. Powdered, glazed, jelly, crullers. We'd sit at the kitchen table and eat them. My parents would drink coffee, read the Sunday papers. I'd read the comics, skipping over the page with Mary Worth and Rex Morgan, MD.

As the years went by, it became a box of factory-made doughnuts. I began reading Doonesbury from that 'adult' comics page. I left for boarding school. My parents split up. I started drinking coffee, then went vegan and stopped eating doughnuts.

Nearly two years ago, in Austin, where Stef bemoaned the lack of Dunkin' Donuts (more for their coffee than anything else), we'd sometimes sit at Jo's (whose coffee I preferred anyway) on Sunday mornings, the one day of the week that they had vegan coffee cake, and read the New York Times.

On Friday, I was asked if I could work this weekend. 'On Sunday, maybe.' I came in this morning at 11, with no real idea of the scope of what I was to do, and no real direction, beyond the knowledge that it had something to do with Dunkin' Donuts. Three sketches of the staging concept for a franchise owners' meeting, as it turned out, and something that I couldn't possibly have finished anytime before midnight if Emmett hadn't come in to help out with it.

So yeah. Not exactly like the doughnut Sundays of my childhood.