I love chocolate doughnuts. I don’t mean the chocolate-covered regular size ones; I love the little cake ones that are dipped in thick chocolate that come in packages of five or six that you buy at convenience stores. Those are the ones I love. I don’t just love them, I crave them.

Is there a 12-step program for chocolate doughnut eaters? If there is, I should be in it. I’m writing this at 9:15 in the morning, checking my watch to see how long it is until 10:30. That’s when I can go get my package of chocolate doughnuts and my Dr. Pepper and take my morning break. See, I do have some self-discipline.

I blame this all on my mother. She’s passed, so she can’t defend herself, and it may not be fair, but it is her fault. I was a finicky eater as a child (I wish I had that problem now) and on into high school. I would eat no reasonable breakfast food, not even cereals. My mom, a nurse, having more than a working knowledgeable of nutrition and the importance of a good breakfast, gave up and one morning plopped down in front of me a box of chocolate doughnuts with a glass of milk, and with a disgusted and defeated tone, said, “Here,” and walked away.

You must be kidding me, chocolate doughnuts for breakfast?! Oh, there is a God, and he loves me! I was elated; I was hooked. From that day on until I left for college and then the service, I had chocolate doughnuts for breakfast.

They weren’t practical in college. I mean, I would have to buy them myself, and I had better things to spend my money on. In the Marine Corps, they weren’t available. There, I ate anything I could get my hands on. Finicky wasn’t an option. See, I can do without them, and have for varying periods of time; sometimes, years. Well, that might be stretching it a little, but I can do without them — for a while.

I have forgotten about them at times, but then out of nowhere, I get this craving and have to have them. Or, I’ll be walking through a store and spy them on the shelf, and they cry out to me — no, they sing to me, “Remember me? Don’t you want me? You can’t live without me,” and they’re right. Then I’ll go through a period where the Admiral buys them in quantities to stock the pantry. That’s nice, and she says that if I insist on being addicted, that it’s more economical, but sneaking off to the corner store is so much more satisfying.

I’m sure I’ll quit again soon. I don’t seem to crave them in the hotter weather; I don’t like the chocolate melting on my hands. They’re so gooey and gummy in your mouth when they’re melty like that; yuck! The doughnuts will slip away from my conscious awareness, but I know they are lurking back there somewhere, waiting and plotting.

A price will have to be paid for this as it is with all things that feel, or taste good, but until then, I’m loving them. I look at my watch; oh no, I’ve still have 30 minutes to go! Maybe I’ll break early today.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at: david@starchasers.us.