This doesn’t happen very often… at least not for me. For some of my more punctual co-workers this is a weekly treat. See, my office puts donuts out every Friday morning. It’s just rare that I get here early enough to enjoy the sugar-packed fat-nuggets. But I walked in this morning to find this donut shrapnel left for me. So, either it was a late night for a lot of people, or the donut gods are smiling upon me.
Now, I have to be careful when choosing a donut. If I get one packed with too much sugar, I am in for a rude awaking. For example, That lonely maple bar in the upper right would send me into a violent sugar crash where I’d take down multiple cubicles of account and traffic people in a single cranky email. That’s why I played it safe, and went with the old fashioned buttermilk bar in the foreground. Yeah, the one that looks like a vagina.
This vagina bar was bone dry. I mean, I knew what I was getting into without it having a sugar glaze or sprinkles or anything like that to moisten it. But even the inside was dry. It was like eating a fried sponge that had been dropped in pancake batter. In fact I would have choked if there hadn’t been a stale pot of Peets coffee nearby. That’s right. This dry, spongy, sorry excuse for a donut forced me to drink PEETS!. It is because of this, I rate this log of fried unhappiness 1 out of 5 plastic forks.
