Friday Confessions

Well, this one isn't quite as frightening bad. I mean, I'm still ashamed. But I will take a deep breath, grab a cup of coffee (yes, I know it's like 2 in the afternoon. It's been one of those days. I love coffee. I'm a grownup, and I'm allowed! Leave me alone, or my boyfriend will come back, and there's gonna be some trouble ... Sorry. I digress.), and open up. Come, try to decipher what's going on inside my head. Figure out why I tick! Help me analyze my dreams! Lock me away, leave the kids with John, and let me have a much needed vacation in the crazy house, where I get to do lots of 'garden therapy.' Huh? What? Who said that?

Anyway. I love healthy food. (That's not my confession.) Don't laugh! It's true. I love growing my own food in my garden, knowing where it comes from. I have a huge crush on whole wheat flour, and making my own bread, and I use organic half & half because it tastes better, and I really love it when I make a meal for people, and they lean back with full bellies and say, 'Man, that was great! I don't even want to know what was in it, though. I'll just get depressed.' And I can grin and say, 'Actually, it was really good for you.' I snack on baby carrots and multi-grain crackers, I haven't had a coke in my house in ... well, ever, and even my cookies are fairly good for you!!

But.

There's always a but.

And if I keep it up, this will be my butt.


Because, ladies, if I had to choose between a lifetime knowing the love of my husband, and a lifetime of knowing the love of what I'm about to share with you ... well, it might not be pretty.

Are you ready?

(Oh, I'm just so ashamed. And hungry after googling all these pictures.)

My dear friends, please help me. I have a problem.

Hi, my name is Brea, and I'm a donut-holic.


(Hi, Brea.)

Yes, it's true. I really do have a problem!!


Well, my mouth isn't that big, but you get the idea. I am so very, eternally thankful that there isn't a Krispy Keme in Bastrop.

My kids make themselves I make my kids a breakfast of Life cereal oatmeal with fresh fruit and real yogurt (you now, the kind with the live cultures) and when John wakes up, I have to go to HEB for milk. Even though we're not out of milk. And since I'm there, I might as well get a donut. Seeing how that was my entire reason for making up the milk excuse to get out of my house. We do always seem to need milk, after all. It's not like I buy three of them and scarf them all down on my way home! Gross! How dare you suggest such a thing. I am a picture of self-control.


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Sorry, I had to wipe the drool off the keyboard. I hate it when that happens!

And if there was a Krispy Kreme here in Bastrop (remember, I'm glad there isn't one here. I'm glad there isn't one here. I'm glad there isn't one here. Maybe if I keep saying that, I'll believe it one day.), I might even have more of a problem. Did you know that KK makes a whole wheat donut now????



Man, if I could find whole wheat donuts, I could justify eating like 5 times as many of them!!!!!!

I have dreams that start off like this: I'm back in junior high, or some other cliche place where one might be really insecure. As I get my books, the bell rings, but no one goes to class. They're all standing there looking at me. E gads!!!!! I'm NEKKID!!!!! Bare as a jaybird!!!! Well, I don't know if totally nekkid would be appropriate. So maybe I'm in my skivvies. Everyone is pointing and laughing, and I try to run away and hide. But all the doors I try are locked. I don't know what to do! But then ...

Then, I see something. A light in the distance, one that might save me from the horrible predicament I'm in. Because let's admit it, no matter how popular you were in junior high (which, by the way, I totally wasn't!!), it would NOT have been cool to be walking down the hall naked in my undies. I'm just saying.

Wait, could it be? It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's ...

A man with a large tray of donuts!!



Now, most normal people having this dream that I totally made up that I actually had last week would have grabbed the tray, spilling donuts everywhere, and used it to shield themselves until they made it to the locker room where they had forgotten their clothes. Or something like that.

Not moi. Oh, no. I grab a donut off the tray, and saunter down the hall to said locker room, not caring anymore what the world, or the popular kids, or the jocks, or the band nerds, or the goths said (not that I was a band nerd. No I wasn't. NO, I WASN'T. Sarah, keep your mouth closed on the subject of band nerds, because I have completely mortifying pictures of us you in band, holding oboes an oboe. I'm just saying). Because with my donut in my hand, I am above all that. I don't care if they don't like my lime green bra (not that I actually owned one of those in seventh grade), or my neon orange undies, or the fact that I'm wearing them together. If their eyes hurt from all the clashing colors on my pasty-white skin (I look scary in the winter. I'll admit that much), that's their problem.

Why?

Because I have a donut!!!!



I'm telling you, if I don't get help soon, I'm going to wake up one morning, look in the mirror, and see this:



Except less jaundiced, because I do happen to love being outside.

With a good book.

And a nice cup of herbal tea.

And a donut.

Please help.