Dear Dunkin Donuts,
You know I love you, right? Like oxygen. Like the desert loves the rain. Like Coco loves Ice. Or Ice loves Coco, I can never remember which.
And that it's been agony for me, to drive right on by you every Tuesday morning for the past eight months, holding my breath so as not to breathe in the beckoning waft of your warm, yeasty, sugary goodness and turning up the radio so as not to hear your siren call begging me to forget about my workout, the 100 burpees and push ups and split leg lunges waiting for me two blocks up the street, and to belly up instead to your cheery counter where you already have waiting for me a steaming cup of coffee—blond, two sugars—and a lemon-filled puff of pastry perfection.
Therefore, if my husband is going to help break my will by sending me a pink and red heart embossed Dunkin Donuts Valentine's Day gift card, how in the name of all that is holy could you possibly RUN OUT OF EVERY SINGLE FREAKIN' DONUT IN YOUR DING DANG FREAKIN' DONUT SHOP fifteen seconds before I get there?