I love doughnuts. Cake, glazed, old fashioned, French…it doesn’t matter what kind. I love them all. That’s why when my husband came home late one night with a box filled with a dozen delectable Dunkin’ Donuts he had purchased while in Chicago on business, I thought I had died and gone to pastry heaven. We don’t have a Dunkin’ Donuts within hundreds of miles of our home so this was a rare and magical treat.
After Ron placed the giant orange and white box on the kitchen counter in front of Stella, Noah, and me, I lifted the lid and let out a gasp. The doughnuts were lined up in three glorious rows – chocolate, cherry, filled, sprinkled, cake, glazed…a virtual fairyland of fabulous treats. Because it was bedtime and I didn’t want to increase the chances of adding a layer of “doughnut top” to my ever-expanding “muffin top,” I decided to wait until the next morning to begin feverishly devouring the box’s contents. Since Stella and Noah had overdosed on chocolate chip cookie dough earlier in the day and hadn’t yet come down from their sugar high, they agreed that they also wanted to wait until morning before gobbling their share of the loot.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I dunno why. Maybe I had work on my mind. Bills The creepy animal that has been lurking in our back yard this summer. Or maybe it was just pure excitement over the lovely box of doughnuts that were waiting patiently for me in the kitchen. All I know is that by the time the sun came up, I felt horrible and was exhausted from hours spent tossing and turning. ”How will I get through this day?” I asked myself as I rolled out of bed and plodded downstairs to make a pot of extra-black coffee.
I had almost forgotten about the Dunkin’ Donuts box on the counter where I had left it the night before. I excitedly started my coffee and retrieved a plate from the cabinet for my long-anticipated doughnut. I could literally feel the smile spread across my face as I slowly lifted the lid and peered inside.
But wait. What the…?? I could see movement in the box. Lots of movement. In fact, it was extremely busy in there. I leaned in closer to see that my delicious, gorgeous doughnuts were now covered with a giant frickin’ layer of ants.
I felt my pulse accelerate and my breathing became labored. “No… no! This just can’t be!” I exclaimed gasping for air. I picked up one of the glazed raised and eyed it yearningly. “Could it really be that bad?” I asked myself. “After all, I’m sure millions of people around the world have eaten an ant or two. Maybe I can just…” I tried brushing the bugs off the doughnut but the attempt was in vain. That one alone must have had a half million ants on it. Hungry ants that clearly liked doughnuts even more than I do.
I tossed the ant-sprinkled doughnut back inside, closed the lid, and and sprinted out to the trash with it. .
I spent the next few hours that day in a trance, wondering where in the heck the ants had come from. Were they in Ron’s truck? Hiding someone deep within my kitchen? Had they hitch hiked all the way from Illinois deep within the Dunkin’ Donuts box? All I know is that as quickly as the gazillion ants had appeared in my kitchen, the moment I whisked the box into the trash I didn’t see another trace of them.
Later that day, I stopped by the grocery store’s bakery counter to purchase a lackluster clear poly container of doughnuts. The only thing they had were some pathetic-looking chocolate iced donuts and a few white ones that looked like they were dug out of some old lady’s attic. The woman behind the counter informed me some dude had just stopped by and bought nearly all of the best doughnuts they had and that’s why the store didn’t have many left.
Yeah… that guy must have had an ant problem at his house that morning, too.