"D" is for Doughnuts

While growing up, my hometown had an absolutely dynamite bakery called Ralph's. To this day I have never found any other place quite like it. They had everything, and everything they had was melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

My oldest brother and I would always save enough money to stop at Ralph's after a Saturday matinee, for our mile-walk home from the theater. The custard filled raised doughnut dusted with powdered sugar was my favorite, but the warm raised and glazed ones with the holes ran a close second. Totally yummy!

By the time we had reached home, the evidence was gone. It always seemed to puzzle Mom that I didn't have any appetite on movie day - how can just a candy bar and small popcorn, over 5 hours ago, ruin your supper?

Many years later, I was living in Houston, Texas, when I discovered a pretty amazing bakery less than half a block from work. At each morning break, having skipped breakfast, I would find myself at this enticing little shop ordering my all-time favorites to take back to the office. (Being in my early twenties and skinny, I figured it was no big deal at the time)

One particular hungry morning, having just spent my very last penny on my scrumptious delights, I had to leave them on my desktop while I met with my boss in his office. As we talked, out of the corner of my eye I noticed the office mascot, Brother Slick, get up and leave the room. Wrapping up the details, I headed back to my desk.

My eyes raced around the room then back to my desk. No doughnuts! It had to be a practical joke. I asked everyone at the office. No one had seen anything...no one had a clue! I was so dismayed I was nearly heartbroken. My absolute favorite custard filled raised doughnut dusted with powdered sugar -- gone!! 

That's when I noticed the evidence. The powdered sugar was on my chair and on the floor. Even more was found a few feet away, but then it seemed to go cold as the white powder trail came to an abrupt halt. I looked up and there he stood -- the remaining white dust all over his muzzle. Our mascot, Slick, was my boss' black lab, and the evidence was undeniable. The little crook!  

You dirty little black devil doughnut eater! Those were MY doughnuts, I told the dog. Amidst the background of muffled laughter, I was trying very hard to keep a straight face. Meanwhile, thinking he was just living up to his name, Brother Slick moaned and belched and sauntered back to his nook in the boss' office and lay down -- satisfied.