Sunday, March 31, 2019

"What'dya Mean!"

No Donuts...

Good "Sorry, We're Closed" TGF Friday Day, all bodies!

So funny. As a continuation of my last donut story, you know the one about styrofoam and cinnamon rolls, I got a twitch to have an apple fritter last Sunday.

I was feeling unappreciated, put upon, and uninspired. I blame it all on my mother who probably felt the same way while I was in her womb and did something about it.

She ate donuts.

Now, every now and then, when I'm in a funk, my fat cells cry out for a donut. Donuts and me go way back. I've got lots of stories of my donut dalliances. But those are stories for another time.

Taking a small apple with me before I headed out to run errands that I didn't want any part of, I decided to stop by Folsom's one and only donut shoppe. An apple fritter would be a nice addition to help me get on with life. But, it was not to be.

As I drove up to the bakery, though the "Open" sign was blinking on and off enticing down and out folks like me to imbibe, the store looked dark. Upon further "007" investigation, I noticed a letter size sign taped to the door. On it in quickly scribbled letters read, "We are closed. We ran out of donuts!"


How can a donut store run out of the very thing they are in business to provide? I mean, what? You ran out of pink icing? You ran out of silly colored sprinkles? Your bag of dough done stopped doughing? The donut machine bellied up? What?

How could a donut shoppe run out of donuts and not know it until it was too late?

Oh, I could gone on for days going Sherlock Holmes on this caper. Now what... Little Debbies? Fake Hubig pies?

I can tell you that Sunday was not a pretty sight trying to calm down and explain to my whiny ass fat cells what was going on.

"Shutup," I said..."Here, have an apple!"

First cup!
Copyright 2019/ Ben Bensen III