Buttmunsch.

This morning, around 7, I found myself in a tug-of-war match with my late mom. We’re both pinching opposite edges of a tiny cookie, pulling it toward ourselves with all our might. The battle ended with me falling backward, empty-handed, as Mom emerged victorious, popping the chocolate snowball cookie into her mouth.

At 7:32am, I open my eyes, and Lola greets me with my morning report, commending me for an excellent sleep score of 92. Thanks for the affirmation, Lola. When it comes to my training regimen, however, she is not as reassuring.

This Monday’s 50-minute workout requires going at full sprint for 8 minutes, repeated three times, with 3-minute recoveries in between! Yesterday’s workout was more manageable, but when my pace slowed on the steep portion of the Chip Trail Loop around Cedar Hill Golf Course, my watch buzzed. I glanced down at Lola:

TOO SLOW

I have my limits, Lola.

I am being slow with my Korok crocheting project: I keep losing stitches and having to “frog” a few rows. The pattern has me work feet-up, and for the third time, I’m at the torso. I’ve become more meticulous in counting my stitches, so with luck, I’ll have the form of an armless, mask-less Korok before Lola announces that it’s my bedtime.

The inspiration for this morning’s dream can be found behind cabinet door #4. Last night, I transferred a package of butter from the fridge to there to soften overnight. After having baked a few batches of grotesque (but tasty) cookies, I wanted to challenge myself to create a plate of cookies so lovely that they could resurrect one’s dead mom. At the time, I hadn’t decided on a recipe to follow, but this morning’s REM activity has sorted that out.

If only my dreams could free me of the feelings of resentment I have towards Mom.

The other mission I had for the weekend turned out to be the least attainable. I envisioned a quick Arts and Crafts project that required a single cel, which I hoped the local copy shop would have on hand. When I couldn’t spot any transparent plastic sheets among their disorganized stock of photocopy materials, I dared to ask the lady behind the counter, who was obviously a Gen Z-er.

“I’m looking for transparent sheets, aka cels. You know, those things you use to write on overhead projectors? On that note, when I was a child, celebrated Canadian author, Robert Munsch came to my elementary school. He told us stories by manipulating sand on an overhead projector. You know who Robert Munsch is, right? He wrote The Paper Bag Princess.”

After all, I am at the age where I force strangers to listen to random anecdotes.

I didn’t say all that, though. I described it as a plastic sheet, and the young lady guided me to a stack of polypropylene sheet protectors next to the door. Without pausing, I gave her a quick wave of thanks and continued out the door.

The search continues…

Later that evening, as I was walking along Oak Bay Ave, I figured I’d dip into Pharmasave to quickly check out their stock. Pharmasave, as I’d always known it, is usually a drugstore with a sad selection of toiletries, stale eyeshadow pallettes, tractor feed papers for dot matrix printers, and the obligatory Canada Post outlet stationed at the back.

Not this one: this one had a trove of fun stationery, journals, puzzles, board games, artisanal perfume, and locally made goods. Half of one aisle was rather butt-centric.

I messaged Alexa right away to share my exciting discovery.

“Yeah, it is my favourite store!! I go there all the time.”

What other gems has this lady been keeping me away from?

Half an hour later, I walked out of Pharmasave, not empty-handed, but with a box. Containing a stack of cels? Of course not. I got this:

Long-time readers of this blog may remember the time I made a bunch of colleagues draw ET from memory and shared the results in a post. Now I own a whole game where the objective is to make people feel like shit about their sketching skills.

While I don’t technically live in the Oak Bay neighbourhood, it’s close enough that I should be more familiar with the shops along the main strip, especially since I’ve been living in the neighbouring neighbourhood of Jubilee for 2 years.

I have fewer positive things to say about Jubilee after Friday. As I was waiting at the corner of an intersection, I noticed a man about three metres behind me, squatting with his arms forward. For a second, I wondered what yoga pose he was doing, until I realized his pants were around his knees.

I did not watch him for a moment longer. Whether or not he did what I think he was doing, I’ll never know.

Anyway, here are the cookies inspired by the one that incited violence this morning.