The Girl is channeling Homer Simpson. Seriously. She’ll do anything, climb anything, say anything to get donuts. We don’t have them around very often, but when they’re on sale I’ll splurge sometimes and get a box. And The Girl has climbed the shelves in our large closet pantry. She has pulled a chair over to the fridge and climbed the shelves to get them from on top of the fridge. She has climbed on top of the counter and climbed the shelves in our glasses cupboard to get them. It’s an insane obsession. And totally Homer Simpson. Donuts are the only thing she does this for. She will sit and eat them until she’s sick. And then when she can’t eat anymore, she takes the remnants of whatever may be left and hides them in various little cubby holes she has around the house.

Probably the funniest thing about it is that she’s so innocent about the whole thing. I mean I have these images of her in my head of sitting on the counter in our kitchen furiously shoveling donuts into her little mouth as fast as she can, eyes darting towards the door preparing to be caught. But in reality, she comes out of the kitchen, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her sleeves, smiling sweetly, smacking her lips in the most ladylike way as if she just had a light snack of cucumber sandwiches. But when I go to count how many donuts she just managed to inhale, the number is usually somewhere between 2 and 4. She doesn’t even eat pizza with that much gusto. Even The Boy thinks she’s crazy for her donut obsession.

I guess I should be glad that our favorite kind of donuts don’t go on sale very often otherwise my husband and I would have to put them under lock and key. Oh wait, we already have. Our oven door locks (as a childproofing feature) and as she was stymied by this fact this morning, she got revenge by emptying out my jar of kosher salt I use when I cook, all over the dog beds. You just don’t screw with a girl’s donuts.

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