Though it was difficult, I managed to skip right over National Donut Day Friday.
Not because I wasn’t tempted by the donut gods, who somehow managed to lobby the right people to get their day on the National Calendar of Important Days.
Truly, I could be a donut addict.
Thank goodness it was a busy day. Idle hands are a donut fanatic’s workshop.
Actually, there’s a legitimate reason for establishing National Donut Day. It is celebrated on the first Friday of June each year, succeeding the Doughnut Day event created by The Salvation Army in 1938 to honor the women who served doughnuts to soldiers during World War I.
There are few vices that knock on my door.
Diet Coke is one.
Potato chips are another.
And donuts, yes, they’re on my Bucket List of decadent food. And all this time I blamed the dryer for my clothes not fitting.
The only childhood exposure to donuts that I can remember is my mom occasionally making them from scratch in a vat of Crisco.
We kids stood on chairs a safe distance from the hot grease and sprinkled the fresh donuts or donut holes with sugar or powdered sugar.
If we were really lucky, and had been good little children, Maxine would make frosting from scratch and we’d slather the red and green and blue concoction mostly on the donuts and partially all over our hands.
Doesn’t get much better than that as a kid.
In our teen years, a classmate’s parents opened a bakery in Hamburg.
In Corning, a mom and pop bakery was a stone’s throw from my office front door. And today, the lake is Donut Heaven.
When my mom was ill with cancer several years ago, I made frequent trips to Iowa. Each time I passed a Casey’s Convenience Store, I grabbed a donut or two.
Comfort food, no doubt.
It certainly didn’t save her life, and probably sliced a few years from mine.
As the years stack up, and as the odds of good health diminish, I have managed to look away more frequently from the donut case at the grocery store or convenience story.
Sometimes, not often, I do fall off the Donut Wagon and wallow in my sweet revelry.
Anita Marley, Lake Regional Hospital dietician, says in her article this week, that belly fat in men is linked to testosterone.
I beg to differ.
Page 2 of 2 - It’s donuts.
As if the Fat Devil is stalking me, the Osage Beach office of Lake Media is nestled between Kentucky Fried Chicken and Andy’s Frozen Custard.
Not far down the street is Panera.
Up the street a bit is Randy’s Frozen Custard.
Doesn’t seem fair.
I’ve hypothesized that the smell of KFC somehow morphs into belly fat. I mean, where do those fragrant molecules of deep-fried chicken go? Somebody prove me wrong.
I’ve also concluded that the 7 Deadly Sins were written relative to food, not a life-long system of values.
We’re faced every day with all types of temptation.
The values were learned from our parents, in Sunday School and church, and from relationships with others should give us strength to turn away.
But, oh, those dratted donuts.