Donuts. Grrrr....

I think donuts are evil.

Kind of.

Okay, I realize how ridiculously dramatic that reads. It's not that I abhor donuts themselves.

After all, who can't appreciate an old fashioned buttermilk with its slightly tangy softness or the delicate, moist hollows of a french cruller?

I can. Oh yes, I can.

*drip, drip*

It's just that I detest what donuts represent.

My beloved yet very anal husband can not think of donuts as anything other than a breakfast food. (If he has something a certain way in his mind, good luck getting him to think otherwise. This is a guy who can only eat mac and cheese with a spoon if it's served in a bowl, but if it's on a plate, he requires a fork. No, really.) So, it's not possible for us to go to a donut shop after 11:30 am.

That's where my problem with donuts really is.

I mean if you start your day with 15 grams of fat and 22 grams of sugar (we're talking apple fritter here) then what on earth are you going to end your day with? A tub of Crisco and a bottle of Karo syrup?

On the rare occasions that I have started my day with a donut, I felt like I was somehow giving up on my entire day, like I should have just stayed in my pjs (or dressed in sweats at the very most) and watched TV all day, occasionally yelling at my kids, "Shut up, I can't hear Jerry!"

However...

...I promise not to give you the evil eye if I ever see you toting a big pink box early in the morning.

...and please don't cram the rest of your maple bar down your throat at my unexpected approach.

...and please don't mention this post if you ever see me with a few rainbow sprinkles clinging to my lower lip.



Okay?

Okay.