[dropcap]L[/dropcap]et me tell you about donuts.

That’s right. Big old glazed ones.

When we first got married, we lived a few skips away from Krispy Kreme. When the wind was right, I could spit off my balcony onto the roof of the place. It was marvelous.

We ate hot donuts whenever the mood hit us. Eleven days per week. Sometimes twelve. We’d begin and end our days with them.

Every occasion.

Whenever Jamie and I had an argument, we’d bury the hatchet over a dozen glazed. If we went out of town, a box was in the front seat with us. When we went to the beach; we had donuts. Dinner dates; donut-deserts. Bad days; consolation-donuts. Great days; reward-donuts. Even mediocre days, holidays, and rainy days. I ate so many, they called me Amazing Glaze at the drive-thru window.

It was a nice time to be alive.

But that was thirteen years ago, we’re not like that anymore. We eat healthier now. Lots of kale and nutritional yeast. Sometimes Jamie eats a Milk Dud or two, but that’s as crazy as she gets nowadays.

Of course, that’s not the only thing that’s changed. We don’t live in a tiny apartment anymore, or share a cellphone. We’re not nearly as impulsive as we were back then, or as idealistic. We have a mortgage, insurance, and busy lives. We think about our cholesterol. We’re adults now, same as everyone else. Donuts are for kids. We don’t eat them much anymore.

But I like to remember when we did.