Chocolate Doughnuts

Chocolate Doughnuts

I love chocolate doughnuts.  I don’t mean the chocolate covered regular size ones; I love the little cake ones that are dipped in thick chocolate that come in packages of five or six that you buy at convenience stores.  Those are the ones I love.  I don’t just love them, I crave them.

If there is a twelve-step program for chocolate doughnut eaters, I am a candidate.  "Hi, my name is David.  I'm a chocolate-doughnut-aholic."

"Hi David."  Ah, I am not alone. 

I am writing this at nine-fifteen in the morning, checking my watch to see how long it is until ten-thirty.  That’s when I can go get my package of chocolate doughnuts and my diet Dr. Pepper, I don't want to overdo the sugar thing, and take my morning break.  See, I do have some self-discipline.

I blame this all on my mother.  She’s passed, so she can’t defend herself, and it may not be fair, but it is her fault.  I was a finicky eater as a child (I wish I had that problem now) and on into high school.  I would eat no reasonable breakfast food, not even cereals.  My mom, a nurse, having more than a working knowledgeable of nutrition and the importance of a good breakfast, gave up and one morning plopped down in front of me a box of chocolate doughnuts with a Coca-cola, and with a disgusted and defeated tone, said, “Here”, and walked away.

You must be kidding me, chocolate doughnuts for breakfast?!  Oh, there is a God, and he loves me!  I was elated; I was hooked.  From that day on until I left for college and then the service, I had chocolate doughnuts for breakfast.

They were not practical in college. I mean, I would have to buy them myself and I had better things to spend my money on.  In the Marine Corps, they weren’t available.  There, I ate anything I could get my hands on.  Finicky wasn’t an option.  See, I can do without them, and have for varying periods of time, sometimes, years.  Well, that might be stretching it a little, but I can do without them…for a while…maybe.

I have forgotten about them at times, but then out of nowhere, I get this craving and have to have them.  Or, more likely, I’ll be walking through a store and spy them on the shelf and they cry out to me, no, they sing to me, “Remember me?"  In two-part harmony, "Don’t you want me?  You can’t live without me.”  The sad thing is that they are right.  With a defeated, hangdog expression, and shuffling gait, I'll make my way toward the singing.  Guilt is a terrible thing, weakness is worse, but by the time I am at the shelf, my stomach, and temporal self have regained control of my common sense and I gleefully take the package(s) and make my way to the checkout counter. 

There have been many occasions when I hand an empty wrapper to the cashier.  I smile as I wipe chocolate from my fingers and mouth onto my pants and sleeve respectively.  She smiles back in a condescending manner, but I don't care.  I'm fixed for the day.   Such is the need for a chocolate doughnut junky.

Then I’ll go through a period where the Admiral buys them in quantities to stock the pantry.  That’s nice, and she says that if I insist on being addicted, that it’s more economical, but sneaking off to the corner store is so much more satisfying.

I’m sure I’ll quit again soon.  I don’t seem to crave them in the hotter weather; I don’t like the chocolate melting on my hands.  They’re so gooey and gummy in your mouth when they’re melty like that; yuck!  The doughnuts will slip away from my conscious awareness, but I know they are lurking back there somewhere, waiting and plotting.

A price will have to be paid for this as it is with all things that feel, or taste good, but until then, I’m loving them.  I look at my watch, oh no, I still have thirty minutes until 10:30!  Maybe I’ll break early today.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at: david@starchasers.us.