On Krispy Kremes and Enjoying the Moment

Uh-oh.

So yesterday afternoon, while I was diligently working away at my desk, out of the corner of my eye I saw a group of young people walk past my window. Before the Krispy Kreme FUNdraiser banner had fully registered in my brain, I was out of my chair, grabbing for my purse. Kids! Selling food! For a Good Cause! Surely I had some cash here somewhere.

I yanked open the door before they even rang the bell. Poor guys. Assaulted on the front porch by an unwashed writer who hadn’t eaten all day and several dogs determined to protect her, from what, they knew not.

I didn’t even hear what they were raising funds for. All I heard was “$10 for a dozen” which is exactly what I had.

I brought the box into the kitchen and opened the lid. Twelve of them, round, glistening and golden like the sun.

And then there were ten.

As I licked the glaze off my fingers, it occurred to me that I might be in trouble. It was very quiet in the house. D3, the only one of our chicks still in the nest, was napping off final exam stress in her room. Hubby was still at work and currently on a health-and-fitness kick, which meant he was unlikely to help out anyway.

So. It was just me and them.

I’d like to mention that I’m not even a huge Krispy Kreme fan. Sour-cream glazed from Tim Horton’s are my true favorites. Nevertheless, my-oh-my did these hit the spot.

By evening, we were down to seven, then six, then four. I can’t say how it all went down, only that D3 raised quite the clamor upon her reanimation and immediately set about catching up. When hubby got home from work, he and I went for a walk, which allowed him to bend his dietary rules. Since I walked too, I also partook. (The walk probably burned off calories equivalent to two bites, but never mind that.)

Then the Vancouver Canucks got knocked out of the playoffs, so I needed some comfort. There were two and a half donuts left in the box. Who leaves a half-donut just sitting there?? Not me, I’ll tell you that.

When I got up this morning, the last two were still there, old, lonely but still decent looking.

Naturally I identified with them and felt they deserved a dignified end to their stay with us.

It may not have been my best decision to date. I feel enough shame to keep me from doing this again for a good, long time. But not so much that I won’t share the story, or remember it with pleasure.

Which, when it comes to shame, is the perfect amount.