Donut hole whore

I made a big mistake yesterday at the grocery store. Huge. Can't believe I did this.

I bought a package of cake donut holes, and now I can't...stop...eating...them.

I am not generally a "donut person." I'm not susceptible to the donut mystique. I could kind of care less about them, actually. I'd rather have eggs and some sort of pork product. But there's something about cake donut holes that I do find rather irresistible. They have to be plain cake donuts, though. Not powdered, not frosted, not otherwise floozied up with toppings or sprinkles or any of that shit. Just plain cake, the type that Marie Antoinette might have directed me to eat (that reminds me, I may have to go see that movie, because it totally looks like a visual confection, and I find Kirsten Dunst semi-charming).

So, against my better interests, I bought a package of them yesterday and proceeded to eat half the package for breakfast with a pot of Alterra coffee. And did I even have the decency to feel guilty? No. And now what am I doing this morning? I'm blogging with cake donut holes! Thankfully, the typing slows me down a bit, as I don't want to get donut grease on my keyboard but still...they're sitting right here in front of me and I'm rather powerless.

See, you couldn't tell but, in between that last sentence and this one, I took a bite of one. And probably, after I publish this post, I'm going to finish the one I took the bite of. And maybe take a bite out of another one. Do you see how this is a slippery slope? Ah, me...