I went to Boston this weekend and apparently forgot I owned a camera about an hour in. Our takeout food must have arrived and completely clouded my brain with its deliciousness and low cost. My friends also had an on-demand karaoke channel. That threw me a little off.

I was most excited to be able to order frozen yogurt with “mix-ins” again. This trend seems to be everywhere in the city, not just the neighborhood I went to school in. I’m not talking about that shit you can find at Coldstone Creamery, an establishment which is steadily winning the war it recently waged against all the cool neighborhoods in Manhattan. No, in Boston, certain delis and pizzerias offer about a pint of frozen yogurt or ice cream infiltrated with slivers of your snacks of choice (my favorite combo as an undergrad was York peppermint patty + Oreo) for $3.50… for no specific reason.

The yogurt and mix-ins list, usually on the back page of a fold-out menu, makes me so happy. It’s something so random and unnecessarily gratuitous, but whose existence I appreciate so much. Like olive oil on the table right when you sit down, or the movie Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead. This yogurt/mix-in phenomenon comprises a significant portion of my affection for Boston. I love Boston! So I must like the yogurt a whole lot.

Anyway, I did take two photos and found them both worth sharing.

My friend E. Barrett (no relation) and I hit yet another notch in the “we have to be related” game. It turns out we both keep our digital cameras not in practical, reasonably priced camera cases, but in single pieces of winter handwear. Hers is a colorful mitten that would be well-suited for a giant. Mine is a stretchy purple glove that, as I’m demonstrating in the photo, “expands and contracts with the gadget.” That sounds gross.

Because I’ve received countless taunts from various “friends” about my gloved camera, I had previously assumed that the stashing of expensive electronics in handwear was so delightfully nuts that only I could think of it. I was incredibly psyched to be wrong. Look at us. We’re so proud. We actually look like we’re imploring you to find us quirky and cute. “Hey, guys, check us out! You can’t make shit like this up!”

Another reason we might be related: E.’s mom sends her a lot of ridiculous stuff in the mail. E. and M. were kind enough to pose with two such items: a gigantic calendar and a tiny red computer button that says “PANIC.” These roommates have actually had discussions about how the other Mrs. Barrett only sends her daughter objects that fall into the categories of “oversized” or “miniature.” I find this amazing.

Something else is amazing. Look at the three letters in between my two friends. Indeed.