I would like a bite of that donut

Work has been quite interesting since last Friday. Sometimes when you’re mentally and physically exhausted, your mind starts to wander. You start to find things funny that wouldn’t otherwise be funny. And most important of all, you start to have conversations that you probably shouldn’t have with your manager, eg. whether or not my month of single-ness is directly related to the fact that my wrist injury has finally started to heal (This is purely coincidence. I promise).

After that thrilling discussion, the topic of conversation moved into a dangerous area. The area of ‘which regular customers do you find attractive?’ Many workplaces have a codeword that you use to inform other staff members that there is a particularly attractive individual that they need to come and look at right effing now. Ours is ‘donut.’ But we would only ever point out random customers, not our dear beloved faithfuls.

It was surprising how quickly and easily I slipped back into the single woman mindset where you walk into a room and instantly rank every male in order of… well… yeah.* Point is, I’d been making a conscious effort to flirt with these ‘donuts’, but since baristas are flirty in general (flirting is how you get tips, and we spend our tips on bacon. I will gladly flirt for bacon), I don’t think they’ve noticed.

So our workplace discussion led to this revelation: We’ve been flirting with the same three donuts.

This was unacceptable. This was war. This needed to be settled, and since we’re both mature adults we decided that the only logical solution was a fight to the death (it was either that or rock/paper/scissors, but that’s for the weak). We prepared for our battle by engaging in threatening Facebook taunts:

Then when Monday morning came around, by some spectacular coincidence, we both appeared to have left our weapons on the train.

Things we know about the donuts at the root of our conflict:
They drink coffee
They are very attractive
…do… do I need a third? Surely this is enough.


*Appreciating the scenery doesn’t make you a sex fiend. It’s not until you start touching the scenery against its will that you become a sex fiend.