In addition to eating lots of donuts and selling books while in Toronto this past week, we took some time to investigate the bewildering Canadian landscape. It was raining hard as we drove north from Niagara to Toronto on Friday night. Through the storm, we saw what looked like a listing pirate ship off to the side of the Queen Elizabeth Way. On the way home on Sunday evening, the weather was more pleasant, and so we stopped to take a look. It turns out that our original guess was not far from the truth. There is, in fact, an old abandoned ship with tall masts just off the shore of Lake Ontario. I took one look at the ship and realized that there was only one thing to do. I had to jump over it.

The ship was very tall, and I was tired from a long weekend of international commerce. In spite of my past jumping success, I worried that I might have bitten off too much of a challenge. But still, I knew I had to give it a try.

You might conjecture that my incredibly high jump might have something to do with the thin air up there in Canada, or you might suggest that the ship is not quite as tall as I’m making it out to be. But the truth is something else entirely. The source of my newfound jumping prowess is not mysterious, but now sadly distant and unattainable.

Like the forbidden fruit, Tim Hortons has shattered my former paradise. Now that I have tasted of the donut of knowledge of good and evil, there’s no going back.