It Always Ends the Same Way

Why do I do it? Why? I know that the result will be the same every time. Yet, I torture myself again and again like some deranged lab rat that cannot seem to become discouraged by an undesirable response like an electric shock, or that awful bloated feeling in my belly.

I am talking about donuts. Fattening, sickening, disgusting Dunkin’ Donuts. One of my more misguided co-workers brought in a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts, and set the box on top of the file cabinet just 5 feet away from my desk. I pass by this file cabinet at least 11,763 times a day as I walk to my boss’s office, the printer and the shipping room. (But it could be worse, it could be on my way to the ladies room, so then I’d walk by it 13,856 times per day.)

I raided my snack drawer in hopes of silencing the call of the Boston crème donut in the box. I thoughtfully chewed on my Nature Valley maple brown sugar granola bar. I washed it down with water, and I chewed on the bar again. I closed my eyes and thought to myself, “You are not hungry. You just ate that granola bar. You’re all set now.”

I stood up, straightened my shoulders, and headed for the shipping room. I eyed the Boston crème, sitting in the box with its glossy chocolately surface shining in the fluorescent light. I swallowed my drool, and went into discuss matters of utmost importance in the shipping room (and by matters of utmost importance I mean my inability to remember a grocery shopping list, coupled with my uncanny ability to remember the license plate on my parents light blue Chevy Impala station wagon that they drove until I was 6 years old. It was KW 492, by the way.)

Before I knew what was happening I was tearing a paper towel off the roll, while singing the theme song to People’s Court with one of my co-workers, which also pertained to the discussion of matters of utmost importance in the shipping room. I tore the paper towel off the roll, and clutched it in my hand as I left the shipping room. I stopped in front of the file cabinet. THE file cabinet. The one with the donuts on it. Boston crème seduced me with promises of creamy deliciousness. I placed Boston crème on the paper towel, and bee-lined for my desk, in anticipation of creamy deliciousness.

I licked the chocolate off my fingers, and the crème off my lips. In a matter of seconds the donut was gone. I threw out the evidential paper towel, sighed with a momentary satisfaction. Then I felt it. I ran my tongue over the roof of my mouth and felt the filminess left behind by the donut. Dunkin’ Donuts always leave a layer of residue in my mouth that no amount of brushing will remove. Then I felt the other post-donut symptom. The heaviness in the stomach. The bloat. The ugh. The blah.

It happens every time, yet this time—like every other time—I thought it would be different.