"Between the optimist and the pessimist, the difference is droll. The optimist sees the doughnut; the pessimist the hole."
Oscar Wilde
My husband had to work a half day on Wednesday and we were going to hit the road for a mini vacay from our vacay, so I went with him. The only problem? It's an hour commute from my aunt's house to his company's headquarters. That meant we had to leave the house by 6:30 am. Bummer. He sooo made it up to me, though, by dropping by this place on the way:
Whoa, Nelly! This little pastry den was divine. When it was our turn to order, I had to squelch the urge to say "One of each, please!" I walked around with my face pressed to the glass and carefully weighed my options. My rump is swelling just thinking about all the delicious fat pills (a term I picked up from a friend years ago). How about some food porn?You are so welcome. You literally just walk around this tiny building and scope out all of the options, then order at the window. They definitely had to clean the glass after I left. I mustered up some resolve and said, "One glazed buttermilk." It was so tiny that I wasn't sure I'd be satisfied.
That was sarcasm. It was bigger than my man hand. It was like a mini doughnut loaf. Per the rental car regulations, I didn't smoke. But I felt like I needed one after taking on that bad boy. Inhibition went out the window the second those lovelies hit our hands. We were like rabid dogs.
I lied and told my aunt I didn't eat the whole thing. Apparently food shame had kicked in. I ate the whoooole thing with reckless abandon. I made noises and got crumbs all over my shirt. There were a few crumbs left in the bag, so technically I didn't eat the whole thing. No, I ate those, too. I'm sorry. I am a filthy, filthy fibber.
That cute little shack has made me a doughnut connoisseur and I vow to never, ever taint my pallet with cheap drive-thru doughnuts. Only religious doughnut experiences from now on. Amen.
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