Jerzy and Kristara eat donuts.

It's 11 PM and twenty degrees outside - cold for Virginia, even Northern Virginia, that state just above Southern Virginia. Duckie wanted a walk and Kristara wanted a donut. (When did they stop being spelled doughnuts?) Jerzy, as usual, was called into action to take care of all of us - accompany me on the dog walk, make sure Duck keeps moving, and go into 7/11 to buy the dreaded donut. I wore the coat that has the zipper stuck up around the neck. I can't get it on and off without a bit of a freakout, necessitating Jerzy's intervention. We're used to it.

Back home with the donuts I took a bite of Jerzy's with the chocolate frosting. She gave me a steely-eyed look. How did she know I was going to make disparaging comments about how horrible it tasted and what abominable ingredients it contained and how wrong everything in the entire world is. I took one look at her and vowed to keep my mouth shut. My expression turned sour.

Not a word from you Jerzy said. Why don't you just go blog about it. That way I'll be sure to not have to read it. What a wiseass.