Ever the life-long learner, for Christmas I requested a pass to Masterclass. Generously, my parents indulged my desire. My interest in the platform piqued several times with various writers and humorists, but when I witnessed David Sedaris offering a new class, I knew I had to watch it.

In true Brittany fashion, I got around to watching the class about a month after my intention. “Better late than never” isn’t my mantra for shits and giggles. I thoroughly enjoy Mr. Sedaris – his sense of humor, his stories (both verbal and written), his unique voice, his personality – and was excited to be under his tutelage.

Class prep included grabbing a berry flavored Dasani and a new type of Kind bar. I set up shop at the dining room table, a sturdy hand-me-down from my mother. So many of the everyday moments I love most in my life have unfolded around this table. Funny family dinner conversations and game nights with friends and family all take place around my dining table. Sure, the lines in the top have filled up with crumbs and God knows what. And yes, we’ve covered the white upholstery in sticky contractor’s plastic to keep them white (I have two kids and honestly, the plastic is because of the husband). As one of my favorite spots in my house, it made the most sense to begin learning from one of my favorite authors.

Among his first recommendations was to write everything down. He captures funny or poignant moments nearly as they happen in a small notebook, and then converts that information into his longer-form diary at night. At his urging, I looked around the table for tools. I found some sketch pad paper and the only writing implement within arm’s reach was Henry’s giant, 18-inch farcical pencil. I used it. Mr. Sedaris recounted enough valuable information in short order that I didn’t want to pause or miss anything.

In a haze, I opened the Kind bar and took a bite. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good, either. And I set it down, hoping my next bite would magically taste like a donut. Isn’t that really what we all want snacks to taste like – donuts?

As Mr. Sedaris discussed the types of interesting and absurd things he records in his notebook, I realized I was quite absurd at that moment. Picture it: an adult woman sitting on a plastic-y seat, using a joke, oversized pencil, with a snack bar that looks like a flattened turd with one bite missing, at a table with a pink fishing rod on it…

And then I thought about all the absurd things that happen to me on a daily basis and nodded… I can fill a notebook, challenge accepted.