Dear Donut,
Fuck You, and all of your deliciousness.
I am wise to your plan. There you are, sitting there looking so pretty, not even a week after Thanksgiving. Tempting me after those dark days. Sure Thanksgiving started out simple enough. We had a beautiful table set up. Pygar’s deep fried turkey was delicious, and Michael Jackson’s ghost made some fantastic collard greens. I of course, made my delicious white chocolate bread pudding. Trouble brewed when Angie and Brad showed up with not only their orphanage on wheels but also that kooze Gwen Stefani, who of course was wearing her beard and their kid, but also a gaggle of her Hare-Krishna Girls [or whatever they fuck they are] in tow.
It all went down when Zahara, upon immediately recognizing that there wasn’t enough bread pudding to go around, snatched the dish and scuttled underneath the table. She shoveled handfuls of bread pudding into her mouth while holding everyone at bay with the electric carving knife. Thankfully, the battery died before she could get a quarter of the way through it. While Brad wrestled her for the knife, I grabbed the dish and ran into the bathroom. The mood of the night had changed, and there was no turning back. So I ate it… I ate it all… and it was gooooood.
I know what I did was bad, Donut, and I’m paying for it with the 5 extra pounds I put on. But don’t think that you can temp me down that dark path again. I can see that you aren’t just a plain old glaze. I know that you are a yummi Red Velvet Donut. I respect that. But I will not let you beat me... here... now... right after Thanksgiving... on the eve of December 1st... as we careen towards Christmas with pit-stops at dozens of holiday parties filled with delicious cookies and booze.
See, Donut, you just want me to be fat. You want me to feel a shame spiral of Tracy Gold proportions. But I won't let you win. I’ve got more discipline than a German Kinkster. So I am not going to eat you, and I’ll be going to the gym now. And as you sit there and grow more stale by the minute, I’ll be running off that bread pudding. And I’ll say no to those cookies that have yet to come, because I’m better than you.
So, fuck you, Donut.
Hugz,
Frau
PS. Well, one bite won’t hurt… but that’s just me showing you the power that I have over you... right?
Fuck You, and all of your deliciousness.
I am wise to your plan. There you are, sitting there looking so pretty, not even a week after Thanksgiving. Tempting me after those dark days. Sure Thanksgiving started out simple enough. We had a beautiful table set up. Pygar’s deep fried turkey was delicious, and Michael Jackson’s ghost made some fantastic collard greens. I of course, made my delicious white chocolate bread pudding. Trouble brewed when Angie and Brad showed up with not only their orphanage on wheels but also that kooze Gwen Stefani, who of course was wearing her beard and their kid, but also a gaggle of her Hare-Krishna Girls [or whatever they fuck they are] in tow.
It all went down when Zahara, upon immediately recognizing that there wasn’t enough bread pudding to go around, snatched the dish and scuttled underneath the table. She shoveled handfuls of bread pudding into her mouth while holding everyone at bay with the electric carving knife. Thankfully, the battery died before she could get a quarter of the way through it. While Brad wrestled her for the knife, I grabbed the dish and ran into the bathroom. The mood of the night had changed, and there was no turning back. So I ate it… I ate it all… and it was gooooood.
I know what I did was bad, Donut, and I’m paying for it with the 5 extra pounds I put on. But don’t think that you can temp me down that dark path again. I can see that you aren’t just a plain old glaze. I know that you are a yummi Red Velvet Donut. I respect that. But I will not let you beat me... here... now... right after Thanksgiving... on the eve of December 1st... as we careen towards Christmas with pit-stops at dozens of holiday parties filled with delicious cookies and booze.
See, Donut, you just want me to be fat. You want me to feel a shame spiral of Tracy Gold proportions. But I won't let you win. I’ve got more discipline than a German Kinkster. So I am not going to eat you, and I’ll be going to the gym now. And as you sit there and grow more stale by the minute, I’ll be running off that bread pudding. And I’ll say no to those cookies that have yet to come, because I’m better than you.
So, fuck you, Donut.
Hugz,
Frau
PS. Well, one bite won’t hurt… but that’s just me showing you the power that I have over you... right?
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