Doughnuts!

Why is it that as I get older things I crave are never as good as I imagined them when I craved them?

I bought doughnuts this morning. There's a Winn-Dixie right next to my office building. I had skipped breakfast and decided that once I got to the office, I'd run to the WD and pick up some low-fat yogurt to eat with the bagel I still had in the office refrigerator.

I turned on the computer at my desk and checked my e-mail. Nothing urgenly pressing to work on. I check my personal e-mail. Nothing from a woman from craigslist's personal ad with whom I've traded e-mails. I wonder if she liked the picture she requested. I wonder if I've heard the last of her. Oh, well. Time to grab some breakfast. Priorities.

When I walk into the store, I realize I'm closer to the bakery side of the store than the dairy aisle, which is at the opposite end of the place. I usually walk that way because the deli and bakery are in the same area and I often pick up lunch there. That's when it hits me. Doughnuts! I need to get some doughnuts. I love doughnuts. Or at least I used to. Now I seem to like the idea of doughnuts -- the sweetness, the softness, the decadence -- much more than I enjoy actually eating them. Maybe they would taste just as good as I remember if I weren't so concerned about the consequences. So much fat and sugar in one shot after so little exercise in my abbreviated workout this morning. Maybe that's guilt not a greasy gut-bomb sitting in the pit of my stomach after I eat them now.

Even simple pleasures aren't so simple any more.