My friend Heather was sort of my unofficial roommate during the summer of 1998. She was still in high school and didn’t pay rent, but she earned her keep in other ways. Like supplying my belly with a summer-long stock of Coolattas and donut holes and breakfast croissants and an orange stool to swivel on as I waited for her shift to end.
It’s a wonder I managed to stay a size 7 that summer.
When I started dating Erik and he caught wind that Heather worked at Dunkin’ Donuts, he hounded her mercilessly to allow him in the back.
“Just one donut!” he begged. “One donut is all I need to frost.”
That should have been a red flag for me, seeing that slathering chocolate frosting on a donut was one of his greatest aspirations. But he was funny and sang my favorite Huffamoose song to me in a fake falsetto. These are things that allowed for him to stick around a little.
Wait. That’s not true. I hated when he sang in faux falsetto.
No matter what song came on any of my mix tapes in the car, he would sing along in that retarded voice. One time, I had an “Aha! I’ll show him!” moment and flipped over the tape to reveal a Crystal Method track! No words, I win!
Motherfucker HUMMED ALONG in a falsetto.
I guess my point is that I want Alisha to go to Dunkin’ Donuts for me.
And that I’m hearing faux-falsetto humming and I’m pretty sure it’s internal.
(Also, I fucked up the post-numbering somewhere along the way.)
“I don’t see why I have to stand here and watch you. It’s just fucking frosting for Christ’s sake.”
“Donutting is serious business that requires skill. You will shut up and watch me first.”