Krispy Kreme *sigh*

My first experience with Krispy Kreme was in 2002. I was a newcomer to this warm Southern state, and I had heard about Krispy Kreme. A warm glazed donut was a religious experience, I was told.

I didn't instantly become a believer, if only because I didn't instantly have a warm donut. My first trip through the drive-through (most unfortunately, on a certain boulevard populated by pawn shops and strip clubs) didn't take place with a certain neon sign lit. So, to me, it was just another donut. Yawn. I worked at a bakery for two years in high school. I knew donuts. I wanted more. I wanted foodgasm.

I couldn't tell you my first warm Krispy Kreme experience. Sad to say. But it did happen. And each is just as good as the last one. The glaze melting on my fingers, the donut collapsing on my tongue. The arteries hardening. It was a hypnotic ritual, evoking dizzying if brief joy.

Tonight I honored a workplace tradition -- one I wasn't aware of despite my nearly five-year tenure. I took the pot in the annual Kentucky Derby pool: $16. So I traipsed to the nearest Krispy Kreme store and bought a coupla dozen for my $1-poorer colleagues.

The sign wasn't lit.

It would have been too good to be true, anyways, after a long lethargic workweek that just demanded the sweet glazey reward of nature's -- okay, not nature's -- perfect donut. But I had a tradition to uphold, so I lifted my head, stepped inside, and ordered a dozen (cool) glazed, and another dozen filled. I took my comfort in the near-perfection of the custard-filled donut: the filling was well-distributed, the icing creamy chocolate. And the best part -- actually! -- the slight crustiness of the donut's exterior, the crustiness that says "Yup! Yessiree, I'm fried. I am so fried."

And maybe next time I succumb to temptation, or uphold a tradition, the neon light will glow cheerfully into the night and I can once again lose myself in that unique and special glaze haze.