Big Carolyn, my former mother-in-law, flew back to Boston last week and did a little shopping in SkyMall magazine. Yes, people actually buy those things, especially when motivated by free chardonnay in first class, as proven by the arrival of this instrument of hell last Tuesday, a "Dough-Nu-Matic," addressed to my imaginary daughter Amy.
Big Carolyn couldn't send it to Carolyn's house, oh no, because she knew that making me endure the torment of creating tiny donuts with Amy while using a difficult-to-clean dough and oil contraption would be a punishment more cruel than any Guantanamo waterboarding.
And so it was that Amy and I set about playing "Dunkin' Donuts," her new favorite pastime. "They'll be piping hot, Ricky!" she exclaimed with an enthusiasm engendered by her devout attention to food advertisements... her first words, after all, were "Hot Pockets." And yes, Amy has taken to casually calling me by an endearment of my middle name, a habit reinforced by the cheery first-name greetings she gives Carolyn's boyfriend, Fahd. (I believe he's Lebanese.) Here's Amy, and as you can see, she's anxious to get started.
After four and a half hours, this is what she was able to make.