You know what I hate? When people lie about liking donuts.
"Do you want a donut?"
Wrinkles nose..."Um, no. I really don't like donuts."
LYING SKANKY PANTS LIAR!!
If you date this girl, you get what you deserve. She will go through your phone. She will cry when you refuse to go to her cat's wedding because it's your Fantasy Football draft weekend. She will call your favorite team "the Blue Guys".
Good luck with that.
And for fucks sake, don't marry her.
I love donuts. For the sake of continuity, I love doughnuts too.
Love them.
Don't judge.
That being said, it is rare that we have them for breakfast in my home. Especially on Sundays.
Sundays are the one day that we can enjoy a leisurely breakfast as a family and I like to cook.
So rare that when I suggested that I leave the house to get some, the room fell silent.
Too silent. Like I was going to jump up and yell, "Saddle up! We're riding the trail to Eggs and Fruit Saladtown, you dummies. FACE!"
My daughter said in a quiet voice, "I'd eat a donut. I'd like to eat a jelly donut. Or a glazed. Or both."
My husband walked in the room.
You know when you walk in a room and you can tell that some shit just went down? That was the vibe.
"What's going on?"
"Mom's getting donuts," said our daughter. But now she is talking a little louder than normal.
My husband exhales and sits down. "Ok....Ok." He takes a drink of coffee and exhales. "I mean, there are a lot of choices. What if the Donut Palace isn't open on Sundays? Is it open on Sundays? Did you look? Do you have a back-up plan? If it is open, what will you get? And how does that plan change if you go to the grocery store?"
Apparently, someone thinks that I am a Donut Tease.
It was a lot for them to process.
I was going to return home a freaking hero.
But first, I had to get dressed. That presented a whole new set of problems.
I mean, what does one wear to the Donut Palace?
I've been there before but for snack donuts. A snack donut is a whole different thing. A morning visit makes a bold statement. It says, "Screw this. They're getting donuts."
I settled on Lulu. Because $100 yoga pants say "Screw you. I'm getting donuts."
But I didn't know if I was going to go in or take the drive-thru.
Wait...
I'm going in.
I pull my giant Mom car into the parking lot.
I've got my list:
A fritter for me. A glazed and a jelly for the kiddo. A sprinkle for the husband.
Four.
Four donuts.
"May I help you today?"
The ultimate charade...I pretend like I don't know donuts.
"Um, I'd like a plain donut."
"Glaze or cake."
"Um, the plain one right there."
She looks at me like DERRRRR....
"What else then?"
"Um, I'd like one of the filled ones. The raspberry."
"And then?"
"And then, um....a fritter. Banana. And a sprinkle donut."
Exhale...it's done.
"And then?"
Shit.
She has a box.
Now I'm in a full fucking donut panic. I look around.
"And then?"
"Um....a bear claw?"
Look who suddenly knows donuts...
"You have more?"
I type that question mark because it was a question. Yet, it wasn't.
FILL!
THAT!
BOX!!!!!
"I'd like a Long John."
I was feeling bold now.
You want me to fill that box? Hold on to your ass, lady. I don't need you throwing shade.
"You want it filled?"
I lean in, raise my eyebrows and drop this bomb.
"That's right. Vanilla crème. Two of them. One maple frosted. One chocolate."
BOOM!
Game on.
But the whole filling process made me feel uncomfortable.
She has the upper hand now.
"Five more."
Be honest.
Simple math isn't simple when you are ordering donuts. I don't care who you are. You get whipped up into a donut dither and you don't know a dozen from your own mother. If you say anything otherwise, you're a liar.
So, I chose another.
And another.
And another.
And then, it was over.
I swear to Pete, when I got in the car, my radio was playing "Nobody Does It Better" by Carly Simon.
And I rode that shit all the way home.
And my tummy hurts.
The End.
