Parking lot passion: part 1

Last night I was still in the throes of Lent anxiety, plus I was broke. I'm always more anxious when I'm running low on financial fuel. I'd been lounging on the couch, petting my dog with one hand and reading a Pink Book (pink book: n. any non-fiction literary work directed at and usually written by women in their 20's - 30's, most commonly recognized by a glossy pink cover. See also: chick-lit). It wasn't a Pink Book I particularly enjoyed, since I don't particularly enjoy any of them, but a friend had loaned it to me and I wanted to be able to give it back to her when she arrived in town on Monday. The book talked about Krispy Kremes. A lot.

I don't really care for doughnuts in general and Krispy Kremes in specific. I'll eat one if it's lying about --separated from the herd, so to speak-- but I never would travel to the other side of town in the middle of night to our local purveyor of deep-fried sugar-dough for a fix, so it was more than bizarre to find myself in the Volvo, with Dozer in the back, hurtling up the highway to the all-night Krispy Kreme station --fully intent on spending money I didn't really have to spend on doughnuts I didn't want to eat.