It’s 2 miles from Krispy Kreme to my apartment, but that
certainly isn’t going to stop me from immediately opening that white box. It
held The Boy’s favorite – chocolate covered Kreme filled. (yes, I know ‘cream’ is spelled with a “c”
and an “a”, but they don’t.) And nestled
right in there next to his – a powdered sugar-covered, strawberry filled. That’s Kat’s right there.
Left hand on the wheel, right hand sliding into the box, I
pondered my crap week. As I approached a
red light, my elbow bent, my powdered-sugar doughnut balanced on my slender
fingertips, I wrestled with the great mysteries of life. Am I truly happy? Am I content?
Am I using my life, my skill set, my desires to their fullest
extent? Blue eyes searched the horizon
as my mind stretched for some far-off, unseen answer. The human side of me noticed that the car’s
interior was a little stuffy as the afternoon sun beat through my windshield. As the light changed to green, my foot slid
from the brake as my left hand crossed over and turned the air vent on.
There are a certain few times in your life when you find
yourself ensconced in a situation you don’t
fully understand; all you know is, for the sake of your survival, you
must take action IMMEDIATELY. I’m
talking about that little adrenalin-fueled mental rush when something has just
happened – maybe even something really painful – when the consequences of said
action haven’t fully registered with you, but your body takes action on behalf
of your muddled brain. You touch a hot
stove, for example – you pull your hand away before the pain of the burn has
even registered. It was such a moment in
my car on that day we will call “Thursday.”
There was air. There
was powdered sugar. All my brain knew
was, I was being SANDBLASTED by powdered sugar and action must be taken. As my face was assailed by silky powdered air
blasting my face, my mouth making a “pbbt pbbbt pbbt” noise like an outboard
motor the first time you fire it up in the Spring, my evolved mind snapped
through a series of possibilities. Do I
lift the doughnut out of the stream of air?
Do I take my left hand off the wheel again and turn the air off? Is the guy who was sitting next to me at the
light laughing at me? Do I flip him off?
Within, oh, 2 minutes or so, my firefighter training shifted
into gear and took control of the situation.
I put the doughnut back on the box, shut off the air, and hit the
gas. I couldn’t bear to look until I
pulled into my parking space in front of my apartment.
A quick mirror assessment revealed that I was covered in
powdered sugar from my nose to my waist. Oh, and I don’t mean in that “I just
ate a powdered-sugar doughnut and I got a few sprinkles on me, aren’t I cute”
way. I mean in a “I just opened a
cocaine brick and dumped it all over myself” way. Irritation gave way to foreboding as my eyes
drifted over to my doughnut. It looked
like a plucked chicken, oozing its strawberry gizzards all over the half-closed
box lid. Every non-microscopic particle
of powdered sugar had been gusted away and unceremoniously deposited onto my
sweater. I don’t know which one of us
was more ashamed. To put it out of its
misery, I shoved the denuded pastry into my mouth. Three bites and one of us was dispatched.
I didn’t bother dusting off my sweater before I went in the
house; the sheer volume of powdered sugar made that endeavor pointless. In his excitement over the appearance of the
coveted box, The Boy didn’t even notice my condition. I made dinner, I took a bath, I went to bed,
disgusted with the world in general.
Then – guess what?
Friday rocked. The rockage of
said Friday to be written about very soon.
Next time – maple bar.
No comments:
Post a Comment