Finny’s nickname for me — Donk — is a shortened version of Donkey. In 8th grade, my last name was misprinted as “Donky” in the school year book. {The idiots couldn’t even spell donkey right.} If I had been a bit more spunky, I would have adopted the new nickname in stride and laughed it off. I would have tailored my student council campaigns with the donkey motto and worn a top hat to show my allegiance to Abe Lincoln.
Instead, for the next five years of public schooling, I was taunted by classmates and embarrassed beyond belief. Not a day went by in junior high when some ever-so-creative classmate saw me in the hall and didn’t bray like an ass. Truly.
When I got to college and met Finny, and her husband Bubba, I made the silly mistake of revealing this nickname only to have my new college friends adopt it. However, when they said it, it didn’t bother me. Suddenly “Donk” became something I loved.
I’ll let Finny tell you the roots of her nickname.
These are another platter of “catnip for men” as I’ve coined them — Jane’s rock buns. One of my favorite recipes to bake. These signal spring to me in many ways. The sweet fruit, the bright zesty flavor from the lemon, the salty crunch. I took this platter of goodies to the kitchen staff who worked on my fundraiser last week. They stretched food to cover an additional 200 people and did so with a smile. I was overwhelmingly impressed.
~K