Donuts for breakfast

Round, plump, glossy with sweet, sticky icing ... standing at the bench, going through the motions of the morning tea-making ritual, my eyes kept sliding back to them. The more I tried to ignore them, the larger they loomed. The jug boils. I pour the water, watching as the Earl Grey teabag firstly floats on a wave of steaming water, then drifts to the bottom of the mug, resting on the dissolving sugar crystals. Beside the mug, the tray of donuts taunts me, light reflected on the thick, coloured icing, winking like an eye.

I toy with the plastic corners of the recessed container, kidding myself that I can resist. Finally I give up the pretense and peel the plastic top off in one smooth movement, revealing four gleaming iced donuts. The obligatory coloured sprinkles coating each half - why do they do that? They don't add anything to the flavour, and the grittiness is really quite disgusting against the pillow-like softness of the donut - leave a litter of sugary confetti as I coax one out of its custom-made seating. As I peel it away, a ring of icing sticks to the plastic and, like a child, I use the tip of my finger to scoop it into my mouth. The sickly sweetness dissolves against my tongue, melting and coating my mouth with a sensuousness only the forbidden can.

I close my eyes as my teeth sink into the cloud-like texture of the donut. There is a slight resistance as they plunge through the thick icing and bite through the feather-light disc of fried dough. I savour every bite, then sensuously lick every crumb and skerrick of icing from my fingers. My head begins to buzz as the sugar high begins.

Will it make my bum look bigger? Of course!

Was it worth it? Oh, yessssssssss!