It's not often you get to wake up to small, airy doughnuts, clothed in a toothsome film of translucent yum. It's hard to start a morning badly when these golden O's wait and want to throw themselves into your rumbling maw. And this morning it happened. Blue skies, a smile on everyone's face - it makes me think that all mankind could come together as one under the glowing, hot-now banner.
The kingdom began a few minutes up the road from me, in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. You might think that there would be a theme park in Old Salem dedicated to the Original Glazed, but there is not. It is a quiet and humble kingdom. They needn't have castles and fairies and mice to spread the good news of the Original Glazed. They needn't have snappy songs, "Today is Tuesday, you know what that means? We have a special guest today," with doughnuts tied to the heads of adolescents. They need only a window onto which pilgrims and devotees may press their chubby faces and watch the little rings of dough be transfigured into the Original Glazed.
The kingdom presses on. And the doors of Dunkin' shall not stand against it.
My daughter Anna sat in the chair with an Original Glazed doughnut in front of her for ten minutes. She hadn't touched it. I looked down at my belly, to remind myself of her goodly heritage, and I looked at the little four-year-old stick figure demonstrating such painfully severe discipline. "Anna, you gonna eat that doughnut?"
"I am going to if you'd stop talking to me," she said. And she did. Once I stopped talking to her.