There’s this place called The Donut Bar. It’s a tiny little shop that sells fancy doughnuts, somewhat in the footsteps of the cupcake craze of a few years ago. Normally, when I pass by at lunchtime, the lights are out, and the window proudly displays a bold “Sold Out!” I normally then make a disappointed sound and move along.
Today was a little bit different. The window instead proclaimed “Happy Hour!” Fearing some trick or miscommunication, I stepped inside only to find piles of decadent doughnuts still behind the glass: apple fritters topped with bacon, doughnuts topped with crushed Butterfinger bars, and what looked like s’more doughnuts topped with mini-marshmallows.
“Just the chocolate one with the sprinkles,” I requested conservatively. But somehow I walked out with that and three freebies…
You will be relieved to hear that I did not wolf all of them down at once, delicious as the chocolate with sprinkles was.
Oh, no. I brought the rest home, ostensibly to share. So now this box of temptations now sits on my countertop, biding its time. For sooner or later, I will indeed enjoy the next one. And I’ll probably help myself to the one after that, since I predict that nobody else here will dare touch it. And probably, because it would be a shame to let it dry out and become inedible, I will stuff down the one after that, too.
Tomorrow’s picture ought to be of an elliptical machine.