A little brown box.

I walked down the hall with a one dollar bill I had snatched out of my wallet seconds before. I neared the brown pastry box that sat under the sign that read “Donut Club” just outside Patricia’s office.

I had removed myself from the Friday morning donut club over 6 months ago in attempts to eat healthier and save the fat. But this was my second week coming into Patricia’s office and begging for the gooey goodness that was a chocolate covered twist. It was sinfully addicting with coffee.

I arrived at her doorway, snapped open my dollar bill and tried not to look her in the eye.

“Now WHY is it all of the sudden you need a donut each week?”

Me, guilt-ridden, “I don’t Knooooow. It’s just so gooood.”

“Well, you just need to get yourself some counseling - cuz I’m gonna take your money like a drug dealer.”