So the faire is over, which means I have to find something else to write about. Those of you who are not Festival-oriented are relieved, and those of you who are can go back to not reading until next August.
(No, I don't have a contract. But after two decades of planning my life around these several weekends, and kudos from the man who signs my paycheck, I'm reasonably certain that my delightful captivity will continue.)
While I regroup, ask yourself:
|You Are a Boston Creme Donut|
You have a tough exterior. No one wants to mess with you.
But on the inside, you're a total pushover and completely soft.
You're a traditionalist, and you don't change easily.
You're likely to eat the same doughnut every morning, and pout if it's sold out.
My only problem with this designation is the pouting. I don't pout. Children pout. I am an adult.
(Sentimental Lady; Fleetwood Mac)