Chocolate frosted donut is a verb

Today, I will chocolate frosted donut. Today, I will visit the Mariano’s at Lawrence and Ravenswood on my way to work, stop by the Stan’s Donuts counter, and chocolate frosted donut. Today, I will fire up the office Keurig, brew myself a fresh cup of French Roast, take a seat at my desk, and chocolate frosted donut as I read my email. Icing coating my lips. Silky smooth cake melting in my mouth. A mother’s love. An Acapulco sun setting over the Pacific. The final pages of Prokofiev’s third piano concerto. The sweet, wet kisses I exchanged with George Keating that one night in a darkened corner of Jennifer Shattuck’s living room until the cops arrived and broke up the party. Today, I will chocolate frosted donut without giving a single rat’s ass as to the number of calories involved. To chocolate frosted donut is to offer no nutritional value. One can chocolate frosted donut or one can count calories. One cannot do both. Defeats the purpose. Today, I will chocolate frosted donut because I could really use a pick-me-up, because the world is doing its damnedest to break my spirit. Another deadly virus. Another Republican outrage. Another iceberg melts into the sea. Another meteor threatens to wipe out greater metropolitan Mexico City. Excel was working just fine the other day, but now I can’t save my edits unless I export everything to a pdf attached to a text message I send to myself because my subscription to Microsoft 365 has lapsed and the only tech support I can muster is from a chatbot that keeps directing me to an http of FAQs that are useless AF. To chocolate frosted donut is to wrest happiness from the jaws of despair. To chocolate frosted donut is to fight back with joy. Ah, Mariano’s! Ah, office Keurig! Ah, worthless calories! Ah, boyishly handsome George Keating, cheating on his on-again/off-again boyfriend with me – an unapologetic, hot-to-trot, man-stealing slut! Chocolate frosted donut! Chocolate frosted donut! My new mantra! Om shanti om! Today, I thank the universe for the privilege to chocolate frosted donut. To chocolate frosted donut is to survive and there should be no shame in survival. There should be no undeserving. A good friend once asked me: “What’s the big deal about donuts? They’re just tiny cakes with buttholes.” I no longer speak to that person. My therapist believes there is no such thing as a guilty pleasure. Dean Young realized repetition could be an ending. Chocolate frosted donut! Chocolate frosted donut! Chocolate frosted donut!