I am not a good Catholic.  At all.

I never go to church.  I haven't been to confession since I bumbled through it for my confirmation.  And I'm still not so keen on that whole idea of having to go through a priest to get my message heard.  If I ever even send it.

But for whatever reason.  Every year.  I give up something for Lent.  And I stick to it.

I traveled two hours this week to a little village outside of Birmingham, where I'd been told that there was an amazing wedding dress shop with gorgeous dresses at fabulous prices.  I confirmed ahead of time that they had the dress I wanted to try.  So two hours and way too many trains and street crossings later, I arrived.  And the sample?  Sold.  Over the weekend. "Oops," the over-bleached blond giggled.

Death stares.  My best.

I then went to another dress shop that a friend had recommended.  I walked in.  And the first thing that hit me?  The smell of fried chicken.  I tried on two dresses out of guilt and then left.

The only thing salvaging my 4-hour round-trip to the Birmingham area was Selfridges.  More specifically, the Krispy Kreme there.  You can't get those here.  At all.  So I had purchased original glazed (we'll leave the actual number of original glazed out).  Rather than shove two in as I walked to the train, I behaved.  Waited until the train was moving to eat my alloted two doughnuts.

I was just about to open that gorgeous green and white box when I remembered what I'd given up for Lent.

Sweets.

(thanks to krispy kreme for the pictures that made you salivate.)