By JANE LOTTER

The Aurora Walk of Wonders is my own invention. It's easy and fun and, unlike, say, trying to read a Metro bus schedule, it positively will not tax your brain.

You begin the Aurora Walk of Wonders at N. 80th and Aurora, at Chubby & Tubby. (I realize there are also Chubby & Tubby stores in Rainier Valley and White Center, but cruel geography says they cannot be included in the Aurora Walk of Wonders.)

The first thing you'll notice upon entering Chubby & Tubby is that there's absolutely no room for you. None. Chubby & Tubby is so crammed with potting soil, roach killer, and tackle boxes, they forgot to leave space for you, their valued customer.

That's okay, however, because often there's also no parking. In December, for example, people endlessly circle Chubby & Tubby, hoping to park. If a holiday miracle occurs and Clarence the Angel shows them they really have had a wonderful life - and he's throwing in a parking space to prove it - they eagerly exit their cars and race toward the building, searching for cut-rate Christmas trees. Once inside they squeeze through the narrow aisles, doggedly following the red footprints-to-nowhere and clutching "lucky" metal keys which might, but probably won't, win them a $10 Chubby &; amp Tubby gift certificate.

What exactly is this business with the keys? I've lived here all my life and have never met {anybody} who won anything with a Chubby & Tubby key. In fact, it's my opinion that just possessing one of those keys is a sort of jinx, which, at the very least, could mysteriously shave several points off your IQ, or cause you to want to run for public office, or both. If one of those keys ever comes your way, I suggest you dispose of it lickety-split. Get rid of it pronto before you do anything that even remotely requires luck, like buying lunch or breathing.

Before leaving Chubby & Tubby, feel free to purchase a small memento of your visit - perhaps hip waders or a travel-size box of Slug and Snail Death. After that, cross Aurora and perambulate seven blocks south to the Twin Teepees Restaurant.

Built in 1937, the Twin Teepees is possibly the silliest-looking building in all of Seattle. The amazing thing about the Twin Teepees is that somewhere an architect, presumably without laughing out loud, actually drew up plans for a restaurant that would look like two Plains Indian dwellings as envisioned by the Easter Bunny. The idea, I suppose, was that people driving by would be so captivated by the architectural chutzpah of the Twin Teepees, they'd squeal with delight and say, "Pull over, sugar! This looks great! Maybe we can get buffalo."

As you enter the main dining room of the Twin Teepees, you'll notice that several ersatz totem poles (hey, I though these were {Plains} Indians) hang from the ceiling, thrillingly poised to fall on your head. Breakfast - my favorite meal - is served until three o'clock, which is particularly helpful if you've sustained a head injury from falling totem poles and are disoriented as to the time of day.

After you've eaten at the Twin Teepees, clamber over the Aurora traffic divider and sprint across several lanes of high-speed traffic to Green Lake. (Just kidding. That would turn this into the Aurora Ambulance Ride of Wonders.)

Forget Green Lake. What you really should do now is turn around and go back the way you came. As you stroll along Aurora, you may find yourself wondering at the grandeur of an avenue that contains two Seattle landmarks - Chubby & Tubby {and} the Twin Teepees - within short blocks of each other. Then again, you may be wondering where you parked your car.

Jane Lotter lives in Maple Leaf. She ate her first Twin Teepees breakfast when she was six. Surprisingly, she has been back many times since.