Who does the washing and who does the drying?
Now that I'm getting older and slowing down a little (LIES!) and not raging six nights a week like I once did, I can imagine eating bright green donuts shaped like sweet little bears without feeling queasy in the least. There was a time when even the hint of breakfast would send me wretching. I'm happy to be able to appreciate the cuteness and whimsy of green icing.
I think I'm most like the one with x's for eyes, totally blown over by the cuteness of these wee tarts and unable to deal with how amazing they are. Basically I have been killed with cuteness. Thanks a lot, internet, way to kill me.