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I’ve had an extraordinarily taxing week, and the whole time I’ve been absolutely obsessing over donuts.  Oh, donuts, you luscious, glorious foodstuffs, I love you so.  I love you in all your incarnations.  I love you glazed, with your sweet, sweet skins of sugar, so thin, so easily overcome to reach the fat-laden wonder within.  I love you covered in chocolate, bittersweet cocoa warring with cakey goodness to delight body and soul in equal measure.  I love you lightly dusted with powdered sugar, firm and filling, straightforward as the heart of a good man and so much easier to digest.  Hmm, this is getting a bit weird.  And I’ll tell you, I’m not actually that fond of krullers.

But, yes, Potential Boyfriend notwithstanding, it’s donuts I’m longing for at the moment.  Donuts will never let me down.  Donuts will always think I’m pretty.  If I don’t make it through to the weekend, I want to buried as I’ve strived to live, surrounded by donuts.  I could be like the ancient Egyptians, carrying my treasures with me as I journey into my afterlife.  Right now, my doctor is shaking his head, wondering how I don’t weigh four hundred pounds and have arteries 90 percent blocked. Doctor, I promise, I’ll dutifully cook and eat my green beans, fish, and brown rice, and I’ll drink my lowfat milk, but like a bored trophy wife, I’ll be thinking of donuts the whole time.  Except for the krullers.  And the bearclaws.  They kind of freak me out, and I don’t think they should really count as donuts.  And, frankly, donut holes are just a gyp.  But otherwise–viva la donut!