Forever lazy. A doughnut ... maybe. And a compliment.
Three things that make for a pretty good start to the day.
It was early. So early, in fact, that even the early morning news was still yawning. As I succumbed to my best option at pre-dawn televised entertainment — flipping channels — I was oddly intrigued by the number of infomercials on at that time of the day. How could I have not known that at any given moment I could order the perfect bra, lose six inches in a week, and add to my wardrobe a piece of clothing heralded as the epitome of comfort, fashion and convenience? What had I been doing?
Sleeping, it seems.
But not on this particular morning when, at 3 a.m., I awoke wide-eyed, well before any rooster in an eight-county area, and slumped to the den to wait out my insomnia. A blanket firmly tucked around my feet I was immediately immersed in the middle of a pajama jean commercial. You know the ones — the stretchy, soft pajama pant disguised as a pair of blue jeans. You can live in them! You can sleep in them! You can wear them to the grocery store! Remotely fascinated, I was, but not enough to actually buy a pair. I switched the channel.
And there it was. The Forever Lazy — a sort of loungy pajama looking thing reminiscent of footie pajamas without the feet. A wearable blanket with a zipper and pockets so deep they can hold three — not one, not two, but three — 12-ounce cans of beverage. Thankfully, with that much beverage so close at hand, it also features a concealed, drop-down flap for convenient trips to the bathroom. To top it off, apparently you are encouraged to wear them both inside and outside the house, at sporting events, no less. Pure, unadulterated bliss!
My 14-year-old daughter rolls her eyes when I wear yoga pants outside the house. The Forever Lazy would send her into witness protection. I would not do that to my family ... or would I?
Time for the chickens to get up, I pushed aside the fleeting thought of buying a Forever Lazy and got ready for the day. My daughter and I were, after all, in search of doughnuts.
Heaven greeted us the moment we pushed open door to The Doughnut Factory. The sweet, warm smell of fresh doughnuts wrapped around us and my eyes widened at the sight of tray upon tray of freshly baked pastries in all shapes and sizes. Doughnuts and bear claws and fritters, some glazed, others dusted with soft, whisper white sugar, still others crispy around the edges, all calling out to me. Pick me ... pick me ...
Even the doughnut you choose says something about you, it seems. If you like plain glazed, you are consistent, responsible and careful. If you like jelly-filled, you are quite passionate, yet modest and easygoing. Chocolate covered? You are courageous and a bit of a rebel. And if you prefer custard-filled, you are a sensitive soul, compassionate and kind, especially to creatures and people who are a helpless.
I ordered a cruller. Is a cruller technically even a doughnut, with its little twisty edges, I wondered. What that says about me, I don’t know. Maybe I’m twisted?
As we waited for our order, a kind fellow behind the counter gave us a rousing good morning. “Is this your big sister?” he jokingly asked my daughter, pointing to me. She let out a half-hearted, barely audible laugh, followed by an eye roll and an ever-so-slight look of pure nausea.
I liked this man.
I liked my whole morning, in fact. My discovery of the Forever Lazy. A fine cruller. And a compliment. Which has me thinking — I wonder how many crullers would fit in that pocket? Now that would be a very good day, indeed.
Contact columnist Mandy Flynn at firstname.lastname@example.org.