Coming home, I decided to stop in for a donut (or two, depending on what they have left and the protractedness of my paunch) and milk, with which to watch it down. The plain, jelly-filled donut is generally always my first choice and moving a finger along the glass case, I settle on another kind which look reasonably attractive so I ask the fellow, What kind is this? These ones? He looked laconically down at them as though they were relatives who insisted on stopping by unannounced, and who never seemed to want to leave, and his reply was, Grazer. Im sorry, what was that? I ask, thinking it was new kind of sweet I had never heard of, my interest having been piqued, I leaned in closer to better decipher his response. GRAZER, he repeated sardonically. Oh... Glazed, I say, slightly less sardonically than he, but also with a nagging sensation that this otherwise simple stop had turned into something more, something that I hadnt prepared myself for. Yes. Grazer. YOU DONT KNOW GRAZER? Ill have a muffin, I think. Thank you.
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 08:38:42 +0000
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