It’s steep. And I mess up. For those of you who were completely baffled by the last post, it’s because this one was supposed to go before it. Though it’s entirely possible I got carried away and the last one shouldn’t have gone up at all. Mea Culpa. Here, at least, is some form of context:
For those of you following the (yawn) donut drama I can’t seem to stop myself from unfolding here, I have an important update.
Unfortunately I do not need a new car. (DANG.)
Lillian, sorry, you’re gonna have to figure out another reason to give Dave about the new Jag in the driveway. Daisy, I left a message for you at the Mercedes dealership. Back away from the heated seats.
I was talking to Vi the other night over mutual horse currying at the cross-ties, and out of the blue she said, “You know Jane, I don’t know what’s wrong with me…I stopped and bought two donuts on the way over. And I ate them both! I don’t even like donuts. Isn’t that strange?”
I still thought my donut-suffering was a coincidence.
Saturday (typically the busiest boarding-barn day) I heard Janet in back of me: “Morning Jane! Want a donut?” She held open a very large pink box under my nose. Holy cow those looked good. My hand whipped in and yanked out a chocolate old-fashioned while my head was still sorrowfully shaking “no thank you”, and my lips were saying “Nah, not today”.
Janet looked very confused. Heck, I looked very confused.
Daisy rolled her eyes at my mixed-message body signals and went back to tacking up Barbie. Maybe if I eat it really fast she’ll forget I took one? You do the crime, you do the time. In other words, no more griping to Daisy about donut cravings.
Kim wandered over and said “Wow, you know, I’ve been resisting donuts all week. This is so weird. I’m not usually a donut person. Good, but weird. Thanks.”
Sandy took one look at the box, shoved her hands in her pockets, determinedly stared at the rubber matting and speed-walked past the warm sugar odor wafting out of the box.
There’s a highly contagious donut virus running rampant through our barn population. Beware!