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Case of... the Demure Doughnut
It was a night like any other night. It was dark.
My name is cleochatra and I carry an induction list.
I sat in my kitchen last night going over some case files. You know the type. Ruminating rutabeggas. Celery stalking. Rehabbing radishes.
The door opened wide like the mouth of a bullfrog ready to swallow the fly of the year. I was face to face with dough formed into a delicious and tasty circular form the likes of which the universe had never so tempted a being with before.
I'd say it was a doughnut but that'd be as simple as saying 2+2 = 4.
It had chocolate up to here and beckoning me to take a bite.
I looked at this dainty baked good and said, "what's a donut like you doing in a place like this?"
It grabbed me in its arms, flipped back its handsome quaffed hair and with it's bakeroom eyes (I'll bet you never knew a donut had arms or well-quaffed hair) and said, "Eat me."
I laughed. "Granted, you show like an impressive minute of mouthwatering fun, the odor of which would have driven a monk to marry, but you're just cheap crumby death wrapped up in a morsel of fudgy fondness."
I pushed it away like a WWF wrestler does a salad platter or a book without pictures.
In a heap, sitting there in it's chair, it said, "So you won't take my case."
"I've seen a dozen of your kind laying around this dump the last few days. So why don't you take your promises and your deep-fat-fried mojo and hightail it outta here before I let the coppers know to bring their super-sized coffees in for a you dunking party."
It walked out my life in that moment. I don't know if we'll ever meet up again, that tall dark-frosted stranger and I, whether it's some dank day-old bakery section, or in the deepest recesses of a brown paper bag looking as innocent as Jeffery Dahmer with a sewing kit full of belly buttons.
I know that as I saw that brown-covered temptation walk out of my room last night, it rolled out of my life at that same moment with the same certainty as a politician saying, "No. And I mean it! Well maybe. What do you think?"
That donut devil might be back, but I'll still be here, contemplating cabbages, looking over case files for fresh sprouts and helping those lost San Francisco-an artichoke hearts find their way home.
If I can turn a donut on its home-baked heel in a monent of passion, you can. :joy
It was a night like any other night. It was dark.
My name is cleochatra and I carry an induction list.
I sat in my kitchen last night going over some case files. You know the type. Ruminating rutabeggas. Celery stalking. Rehabbing radishes.
The door opened wide like the mouth of a bullfrog ready to swallow the fly of the year. I was face to face with dough formed into a delicious and tasty circular form the likes of which the universe had never so tempted a being with before.
I'd say it was a doughnut but that'd be as simple as saying 2+2 = 4.
It had chocolate up to here and beckoning me to take a bite.
I looked at this dainty baked good and said, "what's a donut like you doing in a place like this?"
It grabbed me in its arms, flipped back its handsome quaffed hair and with it's bakeroom eyes (I'll bet you never knew a donut had arms or well-quaffed hair) and said, "Eat me."
I laughed. "Granted, you show like an impressive minute of mouthwatering fun, the odor of which would have driven a monk to marry, but you're just cheap crumby death wrapped up in a morsel of fudgy fondness."
I pushed it away like a WWF wrestler does a salad platter or a book without pictures.
In a heap, sitting there in it's chair, it said, "So you won't take my case."
"I've seen a dozen of your kind laying around this dump the last few days. So why don't you take your promises and your deep-fat-fried mojo and hightail it outta here before I let the coppers know to bring their super-sized coffees in for a you dunking party."
It walked out my life in that moment. I don't know if we'll ever meet up again, that tall dark-frosted stranger and I, whether it's some dank day-old bakery section, or in the deepest recesses of a brown paper bag looking as innocent as Jeffery Dahmer with a sewing kit full of belly buttons.
I know that as I saw that brown-covered temptation walk out of my room last night, it rolled out of my life at that same moment with the same certainty as a politician saying, "No. And I mean it! Well maybe. What do you think?"
That donut devil might be back, but I'll still be here, contemplating cabbages, looking over case files for fresh sprouts and helping those lost San Francisco-an artichoke hearts find their way home.
If I can turn a donut on its home-baked heel in a monent of passion, you can. :joy
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