Inspirations from cheese in a can. joey, kelly and danny.

You may or may not remember some donut muffins I mentioned a while back.  Tonight I made them.  Well, really, I made a hybrid between those and these.  I won’t bore you with all the nuances.  Anyway, as expected of anything called a donut muffin, they are good.  They didn’t look quite festive enough by themselves, so I fancied them up a little with props and trick photography.

Also today, we went to Whole Foods.  They have a spectacular buffet of hot food there, for $7.99/lb.  Being a cheap bastard, I am an expert at balancing how much something weighs versus how good it tastes and how much it costs to make.  This all happens automatically in my brainhole without me even having to consciously think.  It’s like driving.  Some other people’s [read: Joey's] brainholes do not work that way.  I won’t tell you how much his plate weighed, but I wish I had had my camera ready to take a picture of his face when he saw the total for it.  He has very large (and beautiful, I might add) eyes anyway, but I thought they were going to completely take over his face and then fall out of his head, right onto the friendly cashier’s conveyer belt.  Terrific appetizer for a third (and most delicious) Thanksgiving feast.  The second Thanksgiving feast was at Sweet Tomatoes last night.  Wow, we’re on a buffet roll, innit?

As we left Whole Foods and were on our way home, I failed to be gracious about some little thing or other, and couldn’t resist letting fly some zinger.  I can’t even remember what it was (I feel like it was a good one, though.  Maybe a 7.5 out of 10).  Joey turned to me and said:  “You know….you’re kind of an a-hole normally.  But when you’re pregnant, you are a definitive a-hole.”   Just in case you’re thinking about flipping the a-hole card back onto Joey for saying such a wretched thing to his lovely wife, let me say this:  I imagine he’s right.  Well, actually, I know his observation about my default state is correct.  I am a little a-holish.  All those zingers that I can’t resist are generally at someone’s expense.  It’s a character flaw, what can I say.  But the fact that my a-holishness escalates to a definitive state when I am pregnant, I guess that was news to me.  Don’t worry, though, it doesn’t bother me much.  Direct your pity toward the man who drives my minivan.  And you may want to watch out for those zingers if you should happen by me in the real world or on the interwebs.  Amen and pass the donut muffins.