It was a cold and stormy night in New York City this past Saturday night. The wind was howling like a hyena at full moon, and the whynattes were holding down the fort at Kate’s NYC apartment. Not even a shawl made from the finest yak hair was going to keep you warm on a night like this, only a belly full of whynattes can do the job.

64326246787888 whynatte bonus points for wearing the shirt while drinking the whynatte. That’s excellent form, Kate.

Writes Kate, “Local weather forecast in NYC Saturday night: Windy & Rainy “Feels like 41 degrees”
This can only mean one thing. A night in with good friends, a few movies, Chipotle, and Whynattes.
Martin was over at my apartment ready to see what all this whynatte talk was all about. In one of the last photos, you can see that he is saying “that was fucking delicious” (not the first time I’ve heard that phrase after someone drinks their first whynatte).

You may also notice the stains on my t-shirt. I have worn it every day for the past week without washing. Stains and dirt are a small price to pay for the comfiest shirt I’ve ever worn.

(I also did whynattes with my cats for a double-header that night…photos to come later)”

Kate, the whynatte model citizen. “Look mom, a scalding hot latte and a freezing cold bottle of Jager”.

Martin has that typical first timer expression, as if to say, “I can’t believe this girl is actually expecting me to drop a shot of Jager into that hot latte, and then pound it”.

$20 to the first person that can find a guy named Martin with a finer hair cut.

Kate only wears Burberry to drink her Whynatte.

Whynatte: All that and a bag of chips.