By Sophia Yakumithis

I’m pretty sure my parents had me with intention rather than as a consequence of their horniness for one another. 

I’m seven years younger than my sister and she did a ton of extracurricular activities in elementary school, so I think my parents wanted an indentured servant to tend to our home and figured that, with our age difference, I could take over the homestead by the time she entered junior high.

Every Monday, my sister participated in a youth orchestra, which I couldn’t have cared less about. That is, until I was forced to because I got dragged along in the carpool to see it. I wasn’t one to gripe at age five, though, so I just kind of chilled in my car seat miserably, clutching a Polly Pocket and praying to God that this would be over soon.

I think my sullenness and resentment became noticeable through the rear-view mirror because my mom began kicking off my hour-and-a-half long journey through internal hell with a warm, fresh blueberry muffin from a local coffee shop. That’s right: a simple treat that took those carpools from the depths of Hades’ Hell to a state of f—ing euphoria. What five-year-old doesn’t love a 4 p.m. sugar rush? That’s the preschool equivalent to snorting a line before giving a huge pitch to your shareholders. 

The muffins at this coffee shop, which I’m not naming because this place and its coffee otherwise suck, are the kinds of muffins that are perfectly moist at any time of day: fresh out of the oven, during the lunch rush, after a long and stressful day or just before close when everything’s cheaper because it will otherwise get thrown out. They’re topped with turbinado sugar and are individually wrapped — with love, I presume — in cling wrap, which to me is a gentle kiss from the baker themself. 

While I’m still partial to blueberry, there are other varieties that definitely serve a purpose. For example, once the weather is consistently crisp and I have a hard time eating berry-things, apple-cinnamon and chai flavored treats are what you’ll find me shovelling mindlessly into my mouthhole. But if you check back in with me when I start shoving everything pumpkin up my ass, that’s my real go-to. 

This might be an unpopular opinion, but year-round, I really enjoy lemon poppyseed muffins. The problem with lemon poppyseed, though, is that it has to be ~perfect~ in order to be worth your time, and that’s either an undertaking for the oat bar brand “Bobo’s” or all the grandmas out there reading this. 

I wrote this entire piece not because I’m not taking “requests,” but because I was asked to write a piece about muffins by someone I have a hard time saying no to. So, this one’s for you. You know who you are.