The thought of purchasing the rings of death began to circle in my not-yet-functioning brain, the result of waking to each lightning strike overnight that shook the entire house. Would I go Fluffy Fresh? Make the trek to Lamars? Swing by Yos? Cheat and just grab Hostess?
National Donut Day is not the one in which you cut corners, so alas it was decided: Fluffy Fresh it is. Even if you do have to write a CHECK because they don't accept cards. (Note to husband: I have no idea where the $11.47 went to). Lamars would have been ideal, but it was 25 minutes out of the way and well, that place on HHI managed to shut down, regardless of having the type of gooey goodness I still dream of five years later.
And so it became that at 6:50 a.m. a white box in which dreams are made of entered my car with the anticipation of sharing with my colleagues. Knowing my boss may consider making this same move, I shot her a quick text:
"It's national do it day! I'm going to celebrate accordingly."
That's all it said.
Luckily I took a moment before pulling out of my parking space to realize how this could have been interpreted. Damnit fumbling fingers and voice texting. This could definitely land me in HR. Do it day?! Really?!
A career limiting move for sure.
Luckily my supervisor is the kind of rockstar diva who understands where I'm coming from and let me send a recovery message before quickly sending me donut emoticons. And then we shared the story with tears streaming down our faces when the sales team got it.
Gah bless her. Especially since a text attempt last week ended similarly in that it appeared I was doing drugs in the employe lot.
Maybe the lesson learned here is: quit texting your boss. Or at minimum proofread first. Or maybe it's to at least have a donut first...
Happy D day!
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