mmmmm… Donuts.
I love donuts. There’s no way around it.
I would shout it from the rooftops if I could. I would write them sonnets. I would sprinkle rose petals all around their apartment. I would propose to them on our vacation in Italy in front of complete strangers (and their parents who I secretly flew in just to see me do it).
I love donuts.
I think they are the perfect food because anytime is a good time for donuts. Morning, perfect with a cup of coffee. Lunch, afternoon snack, table for two! Dinner, hello dessert! They are perfect.
But I do have to admit that I’m sort of — well, not picky — just now I find I have to be in the mood for certain donuts. When Krispy Kreme finally made it’s way out to California, I could not get enough of them. They were SO GOOD. Still are — when they’re hot. But I think I ate myself into burnout with them because now, they don’t hold that same magic with me anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t turn down an offer — I just sort of prefer the regular old ones, the ones you find in the little mini malls that for some reason (at least here in the L.A. area) all seem to be run by people of asian descent. Not that I care. It could be a naked woman back there dishing them out and I probably wouldn’t notice. I normally focus my attention on that lovely display of donuts of all shapes and sizes. The Apple Fritters – deep fried death never tasted so good. The jelly filled. The custard filled. Sprinkles. Nuts. Hell, even plain ones.
It’s like that saying about sex –which totally applies to donuts — even when they’re bad, they’re still kind of good.
