It’s a complicated relationship, between me and my donut. One that makes my brain woozy with internal deliberation. You know the kind. The, “Should I?” question followed by the inevitable, “No, I shouldn’t,” less than persuasive argument. But then as if operating with a mind of their own, my legs move me while I relentlessly attempt a detour the other way.
But why shouldn’t I experience this lovely treat? I spent all week turning my cheek from other temptations. The extra cookie, the oversized slice of lemon pie…the second hotdog. I put up excellent fights, no matter the loss.
So it is fitting that my reward today, for my valiance, shall be a second donut. I found her, with her friends, snickering at me. She’s sweeter than the first one, damn her. That one left me sad and lonely and filled with shadowed regret so relentless that I could think of nothing other than another affair. This new treat, fresh and shiny, has renewed the promises from before. Joy, relief, a taste so heavenly in that her counterpart mere minutes ago still lies in a faint aftertaste at the tip of my tongue; reminding me her pleasure is only one decision away…
…a third donut. She lies in a patient wait so still I can almost see her calculated attempt at pretending I’m not watching. But I am. Though you wouldn’t notice if you looked at me. I’ve honed my aloofness for food for so long an Oscar could not begin to describe my talent. But the torrent within builds. The pressure awaits a reason to walk by, to grab another.
Oh dammit, it smells so good. My brain descends, yet again into my woozy despair. Please, I beg of you, dear co-workers, eat the last donut before I do. Take this burden, relieve me of my pain. Oh how I wish the company picnic time were here. Oh, the company picnic, the Mount Olympus of succulent treats. What an ending to a torturous week. I curse this life of mine. One of pain and temptation filled with regret and guilt. I need a distra-
Hey look. A donut. Don’t mind if I do.