That tweet also reminded me of an episode that angered me at the time but is now a fond memory. I go through spells of watching episode after episode of a TV series. Back then, I was on a kick for old Perry Mason episodes. It was midnightish and the VHS (shudder) was feeding me my second episode of the evening when it occurred to me that I had a brand new bag of little white Hostess donuts in the pantry. You know the little thrill of such a realization, right?
Being a delayed gratification kind of guy in such matters, I didn't rush to my bag o'donuts. Nope. I watched Perry and Della and Paul and thought about those donuts. Mentally savored those donuts. Anticipation. It was gonna be a good night. Yum. Then finally, when the time was PERFECT, I headed barefoot across the Berber and tiptoed across the cold tiles of the kitchen...
...opened the refrigerator. Poured me a perfect glass of frosty cold milk. Not 2%. THE GOOD STUFF. Mouth watering? Yup. Opened the pantry and grabbed my bag o'donuts. WHAT THE CRAP?!?!? That brand new bag? Guess what it had in it? ONE PITIFUL HALF-DONUT AND A BUNCH OF THOSE HARD-TO-EAT TINY CHUNKS AND CRUMBS.
Being experienced in such matters, I knew who did it: ONE OR BOTH OF THOSE KIDS OF MINE STOLE MY LITTLE WHITE DONUTS. Despite lengthy interrogation, neither would really own up to it, but I know they did it. So now that they're grown, when I visit their houses, you think I show any mercy on their pantries? NOPE. And when they gripe because I pilfer a honey bun or a Pop-Tart or a tasty treat from Little Debbie, I just say "LITTLE WHITE DONUTS!"
