I stood in line a long time at World’s Best Donuts. The woman in front of me asked where I was from, and we had easy conversation, all driven by her– a nice change after years of B&B-ing.
I picked up a box of treats for the office– and I tried a Skizzle for the first time. Holy Deep Fried Heaven, I retract all my judgy thoughts about how they’re just for little kids (the way bubble gum ice cream is just for kids– it no longer tastes good once you pass a certain age).
It was a cool and misty day in town, but somehow a more perfect day for donuts than if the sun had been out. We shuffled forward in a way that reminds me now of the slow march of communion up the center aisle at a church. (Which always makes me think: if Jesus was consulted, what else would he choose as “body of Christ, given for you”? Surely a Skizzle is more sacred than a factory-pressed water of nothingness. Surely the whole point is the gathering of two or more).