So I was a little tired and ready to go home early to take a nap when I realized that my sweet tooth was calling. I did a quick cost benefit guilt analysis and decided that a maple bacon donut from the Laotian place near Major was in short order.
Not nearly as intense as the gigantic apple fritter and would take care of business perfectly. Now this particular place is always open, what other donut shop is open until five o'clock? I could get my fix and nobody else would be the wiser.
But I got there this afternoon and a sign in the window said, family emergency, closing at two this week.
I looked around Major Market and nothing looked good, little container of Haagen Daz is six bucks, not going there. Their whole refrigeration aisle looked like it was on the fritz, I skedaddled.
Now buying something like this has its own set of issues. I pondered them as I drove out onto Mission, steering wheel in one hand and grabbed a hunk off the side with the other, taking about twenty percent in my first grab and stuffing it in my mouth.
You learn as a married adult, eat too much on the way home, you get hell from your wife, better to finish it altogether or hide or jettison the evidence before you get home.
I looked down at the fragmented and crudely torn pie and thought that I was in a real quandary. If I threw the empty package in the trash, she would surely see it and I would hear no end of it. If I gave her what was left, she could rightfully call me a pig.
My guilt meter was already on 9 and I plotted my escape plan.
Luckily a solution appeared out of the ether. A guy that helps me with my garden, Todd, was leaving the gate to my place as I got there. Todd is not married, loves pumpkin pie and was more than willing to take the hand off of what remained of my once proud dessert.
Problem solved! Everybody is happy. Nobody getting fat except me and Mama Cass.