We survived our night in the creepy, country Maine air bnb! I think I mentioned it in the liveblog, but it was the attic floor of a multi-tenant house and it was actually pretty cute, not gonna lie, but also awkward. The bathroom and kitchen were in the same room, which would have been a problem if we were staying here for more than just one night’s sleep. But it also really creeped me out. After we settled in Saturday night, Henry and Chooch left to find a nearby Taco Bell and I was in there alone. The TV wasn’t working (maybe it worked and I just didn’t care to figure it out) and whoever was living downstairs was very quiet, so I walked around silently, getting ready for bed. It was a bit much because, at home, it is never quiet. There is always the TV on downstairs, the radio on upstairs, plus we live on a busy street. So, I asked, “What kind of New England Ghost Story am I about to star in here?” Especially after Henry and Chooch came back – Henry was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, so, two rooms away, and I had just closed my eyes and rolled on my side when I swear to you, I swear on the box of Drew’s ashes that are right next to me here, I heard someone hoarsely whisper from what sounded like the doorway, “Erin!” I quickly rolled around and said, “What? Henry!?” but no one answered. I really thought it was Henry trying to get my attention without yelling through the house since it was “quiet hours” but he said it wasn’t him.

And then as I drifted off to sleep, my last thought was, “I wonder if any of us will survive the night.”

I thought that, if not some supernatural entity, an ax murderer would find his way up our fucking creeptastic attic staircase and slaughter us all.

A corner of our bedroom.

Our haunted bedroom that I tried to post a picture of in the liveblog but my blog was being a picture-rejecting dick that night.

Anyway, we left around 8am that morning and all I wanted to do was stop somewhere to get a small breakfast. “A cafe,” I said. “Surely they have cafes in this town.” And they did, because Henry had gone to one much earlier that morning to get me coffee while I was showering because Henry is my fucking PA in case you didn’t know, also he knows that the sooner I oral-surf the hot waves of caffeine, the less of a sunrise cunt I will be.

Oh, you guys. Oh ho ho ho ho ho why did I think this would be an easy feat? We drove around for what seemed like an hour but wasn’t, it was just that excruciating that time was appearing to stretch like Laffy Taffy but less Laffy and more Stabby. We went to one cafe and the line was long and the cafe was small so it was packed. We went to a bakery that was seemingly being praised by the fucking Macron himself for their croissants that rivaled Paris’s own offerings.

BUT IT WAS CLOSED FOR “SUMMER BREAK.”

We followed two elf cosplayers into another down the block but it was mostly bevs with a barely-there pastry counter.

Lots of fighting. Lots of huffing and puffing. And then finally I said, “Let’s just go back to Holy Donut” even though I didn’t want donuts and we had planned on going to one of these places in Portland later that day but honestly, with all the time we wasted looking for a “quick AM snack” so as not “waste time,” we could have just fucking sat down at a restaurant somewhere. If someone made a Venn of the things we—collectively! not just me and Henry!—fight about, best believe “Food Fights” but more specifically “Breakfast Bickering” is going to take up the most real estate on that bitter pie.

Holy Donut, in case you didn’t know, is a famous Maine donut establishment. There are multiple locations and they are known for making their donuts with potatoes. I’m not the biggest donut connoisseur but these did seem appealing to me. I also appreciate classic flavors and not like, “How many different desserts can stuff into one donut?” types of offerings, and Holy Donut seemed to lean toward less is more.

We ended up getting a box of 6 because they were buy 5 get 1, and the cashier almost robbed us of this but then someone came out from the back and was like THEY GET A FREE ONE and don’t worry, because I saw the sign and was getting ready to open my big fat Karen mouth anyway. (J/K I’m usually not a Karen unless I’m butting heads with authority and no offense, donut counter guy but I DIDN’T SEE A BADGE.)

The ones I was most interested in was “blueberry glazed” which was a blueberry donut with blueberry glaze, a vegan lemon, and a blueberry donut with LEMON glaze. Can  you tell what my favorite flavors are.

Sadly though, and this is kind of hard to explain, but I am currently averse to blueberries? I am suddenly associating them with Drew and I literally feel a punch to the gut when I think of blueberries. I don’t know if it’s because, right up to the morning of her death, I was regularly making blueberry smoothies for breakfast and she would always stand in the kitchen and cry-meow because she wanted her treats, or trits, or T-R-I-T-Ses which she knew was just me spelling “trits” so even then she would start meowing because she wanted them. And then I was always snacking on either fresh or frozen blueberries throughout the day and in fact, there are still two cartons of frozen blueberries in  the freezer which have gone untouched since July 1 because I just feel like my stomach is coming up my throat every time I see them.

Anyway.

This is all to say that the blueberry ones were just not bringing me happiness.

But the lemon vegan one? OUT OF THIS GODDAMN WORLD. If they had served it after the Astrosphere ride at Funtown,  that would have been all the incentive I needed to sign my name in blood on whatever Scientology sign-up sheet they pushed under my nose. My soul for a lemon vegan donut? You got it. You can have my 401K too, Alien Drummer.

Anyway, this opinion wouldn’t be formed until much later in the day because I was still IN A MOOD and only took a small bite out of the blueberry² donut before tossing it back in the box and declaring that I didn’t even want a donut and then proceeding to silently cry the whole way to our friend Kristen’s brother’s alpaca farm on the coast of Maine, which is what we’ll talk about next time.

 

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