The Bad Donut

Shhhh. Listen quietly. You just may be able to hear the toll of doom. I should have heard it myself when my sweet and innocent daughter chose her donut from the case yesterday, but I wasn't paying attention. It seemed so benign, just sitting there on its little tray, lined up so carefully next to all the other donuts, waiting for some sweet child to be beguiled by its lucious pink frosting and gentle smattering of sprinkles. And we were beguiled, oh we were. As often happens on a trip to the grocery store I had bargained for my childrens' good behavior with the promise of the reward of all rewards: a donut. Is there anything better? Not usually, but this time was different. I don't think poor Bitty can ever trust a donut again. Stomper did okay - he went with your typical cake variety, topped with little more than an extra helping of powdered sugar, but Bitty saw that shiny pink frosting and there was nothing she wanted more on earth than that donut. I guess I have to admit, as I watched her eating it in her typical style, from the top down, and her mouth, lips and tongue turned a livid shade of peptobismol pink, that I knew deep down that something was just not right. It wasn't until we arrived in our driveway and I started hauling in a few groceries that I had an inkling of what was really headed our way. Donut left unfinished, dangling from her limp fingers, Bitty solemnly declared, "Mommy, I don't feel so good." Now do you hear the tolling of the bell?

Da Da Da Duuuummmmmm....

I have never seen pink puke before, and I'll tell you, it's a sight to behold. I don't think I'll ever forget it. I hope to never see it again. I don't think that likely since today, as I drove to the same store we had been at yesterday to purchase a forgotten item on the list, Bitty cried out in terror, "That's the store with the donuts!!!!"