Yesterday, one of my friends was in Chicago, texting me about all of the donut shops that are now all over the city (if donuts are the new cupcakes, are glaze shots the new frosting shots?), and now I’m in the mood for donuts.
We do have some good donut shops (and pop-up shops) in the Boston area, but we’re in Dunkin’ Donuts territory–you can’t spit without hitting a Dunkie in these parts (there are 5 within a one-mile radius of my ZIP code alone), so invariably, a lot of the donuts I consume come from there.
The donut, to me, is a significant treat because if I had the option, I’d eat my body weight in donuts–and still manage to find room for donut holes. So I don’t eat them very often. However, having “donut chat” spurred this conversation this morning:
Me: You know what I really want for breakfast? One of those croissant donuts. Then I saw the chart with my measurements and weight and realized, no donuts.
The Boy: We can’t stop for donuts? Awwww, butts.
Butts indeed. I don’t even have to look in the mirror to know that.
So no donut for me today. Don’t ask me about the last blonde brownie though. Or the bourbon pecan pie that’s getting made to celebrate National Pie Day.
I think I’ll go for a run now to make up for these indulgences.