Do'Nut Eat This

 In my defense, I want you to know that, being gluten sensitive, I have been deprived of gluten products for several years. I’ve made due and it’s been tolerable. More recently I made a decision to limit my sugar intake and on top of that, gave up coffee for the week. Hopefully this helps you understand the frame of mind I was in when the following took place.

The tantalizing aroma of fresh baked donuts permeated the room. A perky young lady in a crisp apron stood smiling at the door of our store, rectangular pink box balanced in her hand. With a dimpled smile she presented the offering to my co-worker and I. “Compliments of your new neighbor; our bakery opened today!”

With reverence we carried the box to the employee break room. Upon sitting it down, and lifting the lid, a small moan escaped my throat and tears threatened to spill. My knees buckled and I knew my willpower had just run out the door taking common sense and pride along with her. 

There inside, nestled gently in white tissue paper were a baker’s dozen of the loveliest assortment of hot fresh-out-of-the-bakery treats. Glazed and frosted donuts, some jelly filled, apple fritters, bear claws, and oh my -- maple bars! My hands flew to my eyes. "DON'T LOOK! TURN AWAY NOW!!" But it was too late. Gluten be damned. Sugar free be damned. Forget about the strict healthy eating plan I was determined to follow.

The maple bar was cut in half in a futile attempt of restraint but I knew it was a joke. The entire bar would be eaten, by me, and in short order! In a heartbeat the feeding frenzy was on. Each bite was shameless unadulterated pleasure. Whimpers of ecstasy from my corner of the break room caused my co-worker to look over and chuckle. And, then, it was over. All that was left was the sweet stickiness on my fingers and a frosting glaze on my chin. I sighed and burped delicately.

Later, at home, as I rolled in discomfort from the thickening around my waist where my pants cut into my bloated belly, I sighed again and this time the burp was a belch and there was nothing lady like about it. But was it worth it?

 Finding a last drop of glaze in my bra cup as I undressed I said softly "Yes.” I licked the glaze off my bra. "It tasted just like a baby angel*."

*Credit Tim Hawkins for this amazing quote

Ah, Saturday

I slept in as I usually do on Saturdays. Totally oblivious to the movements of my husband as he prepared to leave to his weekly men's breakfast & bible study, I only snuggled deeper under the covers when he bussed my cheek. That's the way it goes on Saturday. It's the one day of the week I eschew wifey-kitchen duties in favor of the extra hours of sleep that I always feel deprived of the rest of the week. With my sweetie assured of a hearty breakfast at his men's gathering, I can relax; he will be well fed. 

When I finally rousted and slouched my way to the kitchen in search of a bottomless mug of coffee, the blaze in the woodstove drew me in. I traded my bed covers for a blanket and nestled into my recliner with my toes as close to the woodstove as I dared to go. My unfinished mystery novel laid on the side table, begging me to finish and without an restrictions to hinder me, read is what I did. I was reaching the all important mystery reveal when my cell phone, tucked deep in my bathrobe pocket, began to vibrate and then my ringtone pierced the silence of my retreat. 

I dug under my blanket and wrestled with pulling it from my pocket,and when I saw who was calling a sense of foreboding came over me. One of the last things I said last night before we drifted off to sleep was that he could take my car in the morning but it was on empty and he'd need to fill it. Seeing it was HE on the phone and there was no reason to call me, I knew before I answered that the news wasn't going to be good.

"Uh... Hi... um, guess who ran out of gas?" 

I admit, I was so less than gracious about his need to be rescued. I have only run out of gas once in my life and of course my husband was who I called. And of course he came to my rescue. It's what he does. I, on the other hand, was in the middle of a really really good mystery! I was still in my P.J.'s for heaven's sake! I hadn't even  brushed my teeth, or my hair! But I sucked it up and said I'd be there soon. 

Of course this meant pulling on clothes-- what I sleep in is barely fit for hubby's eyes, let alone the public. Fashion Police be damned, as long as it's keeping me warm!  But I traded my fleecy piling jammies for something a little classier; sweatpants! I found the gas can in the garden shed as he'd promised, and was on my way. 

Once the two of us were back at home I warmed up soup for lunch and then he left to put in some extra hours at work. The work project is in the home stretch and the pickup list endless. He's spending every waking minute on the job, including now, weekends. I, on the other hand, returned to my chair and my book. 

Forty five minutes later, with a satisfied sigh I closed my book and stretched. My cat, who'd been curled up on my lap looked at me with disdain. How dare I infringe on his comfortability. I ignored his cold stare and decided action was in order. Whether I wanted to or not, I needed to move. My walking this week has been sparse due to the unforgiving cold snap we're in. I knew I needed to make up for it while the sun was shining today. 

It took every ounce of energy to force myself out the door but once I was headed down the street, it was good. I made my trek, a little shorter than usual, giving myself some slack since it was Saturday. Because I am a little O.C.D. when it comes to numbers, I like my distance to end with either a mile or a half mile mark. Finding myself a wee bit short of making a perfect 2 miles, I forged around the back of the house and found myself gazing up at the neighbor's ever growing Pussy Willow tree. I saw buds just barely bursting out on the branches and it made me smile. Pussy Willows have special significance in my parents love story-- I'll save that for another day-- but seeing the soft gray buds made my heart sing just a little. Harbingers of Spring is what they are. Crocus's do it for some folks, and daffodils and tulips, certainly announce spring, but it's the pussy willow that says it for me. 

I ended up putting a little branch of it on my front door. A dry pussy willow branch will keep indefinitely. 

The rest of my day went by uneventfully. I showered and dressed and sat at the desk doing things I don't particularly like to do, especially on a Saturday, but I argued that  if my sweetie has to work, then I guess I can do a little work too. To celebrate the task of balancing the check book against the bank statements, and paying bills, I popped the cork on a nice bottle of Riesling. 

I have had a near perfect Saturday despite that rude interruption . I have pussy willows in my Welcome Bucket and the company of a blazing fire, a purring cat and a smooth glass of wine. And another book calls my name.