Poppy Mallow Cupcakes, kingston ontario

Thank You, Greg Burliuk!

The past week has been long one.

Last Friday I was interviewed by Greg Burliuk of the Whig and had to wait eight days for the article to come out - you can imagine the kinds of thoughts that had time to run through my mind - what if he was just being nice with his positive comments during the interview but really found them flavourless and uninspired? What if the cupcakes were fine but somehow my personality put him off? What if he just thought the whole thing was silly?

I woke up this morning far earlier than usual with an anticipation stomach ache, the kind kids get on Christmas morning, and collected some quarters off the dresser. I didn't know where the nearest newspaper-vendie thing was but I figured my best bet would be to head for Princess Street. A lovely morning, perfect for a 7am walk.

There it was, in front of the Star Diner, which is awesome for breakfast and burgers. So I skipped across the empty street, ready to drop some quarters on a paper that would divine for me the near future of my sugary little venture - but I was a quarter short. I paced about a little - do I run all the way home and come back? Couldn't, take way too long. I shook the handle and checked the coin return. Nothing. Should I go in to see if one of the hard working waitresses would lend me a quarter if I promised to bring one back later? I might come off as a beggar, I had just gotten out of the shower, was wearing Kevin's over-sized hoody and Crocs with paint on them. I didn't want to make a spectacle of myself but, man, I couldn't stand the idea of leaving there without that paper. If I could just explain that I was in that paper and had waited eight grueling days to see what was written, I'm sure they, staff and patrons alike, would be just as excited and multiple quarters would surely be offered up. Maybe I'd get the article out and we would all read it together, there would be congratulations and high-fives all around. It would be a moment to remember.

Just as I was about to do it, a young man crossed the street to enter the diner, "Excuse me," I said, with my hand extended, showing the change that I did have, "do you think you can spare a quarter? I'm short for the paper."

He did the mock-check-of-pockets-pat-down and said "Sorry".

Yeah, I was just looking too homeless. I walked home, no triumphant moment with the strangers at the diner to regale my friends with, and got my quarter, plus two extra, just in case. This time, I got in my car and drove a ways away to find a vendie thing - I didn't need the no-change guy pointing me out as a loiterer by going back to the same spot.

I didn't open it right away, I waited until I got upstairs, woke Kevin up and read it out-loud. By the end of the article, my voice was squeaky with glee and I wanted to rush to call everyone I knew. You're welcome, friends, most of whom are two time zones behind me, for controlling myself. I'll call you tonight and make you listen on the other end while I read it to you!