I went to a meeting this morning where there were two dozen donuts. I was coming off of a good breakfast though: Egg Beaters on whole wheat toast with three low-cal sausages.
My tummy felt good when I got there but there’s something about the texture, the smell, the dried drippings of sugar glaze, the hidden thick yellow middle of a Boston cream, the hardness of a crunchy cruller. Then there’s the donut hole itself… each one slightly irregular with its inner ring splattered with an excess of flavored topping.
I stared at them, their holes puckered like day-glow lips, “Eat me Ronnie.
I wanted to suck the filling out of the Boston cream as it also taunted me, “Forget about the holes Ronnie, I’m full of sweet cream.”
The twisty spirals of the French cruller writhed against the floor of the box, “À faire l’amour avec moi vos dents Ronnie.”
The stiffness of the cruller… NAH!
The temptation was killing me as they kept shouting my name along with lewd bakery terms that I hadn’t heard since an apple pie orgy I hosted last summer. It also didn’t help that the boxes themselves where wide open with a smattering of red jelly, powdered sugar, and smears of chocolate on the underside of their lids.
The French cruller and the rigid cruller began a crude dance that I can only describe as deliciously obscene. I decided that I could not take the temptation any longer. They had whipped my palate into a frothy furor. I reached into the open box and grabbed them both with a firm hand. Wicked thoughts ran wild in my head and I ran to the bathroom hoping to resolve the matter before the beginning of the meeting.
I locked the door behind me and caught a glimpse in the mirror of the madman I’d become. I was better than him! I needed to punch him in the gut as hard as I could. My hand squeezed the crullers into a fattening wad of fried lard and dough. The strength of my angry fist clamped around the moist clump like a vise causing the excess dough to escape between my fingers.
In one hard downward motion the mass was sent into the depths of the toilet water below. The taunting had ended. The victory was a small one, but a victory nonetheless. I had met the enemy and defeated it.