Why the Boy Scouts Are Making Me Fat

My doorbell rang yesterday. I opened my door to find two small boys, age 9-ish, on my front porch. 

"Hi guys," I said, stepping outside. "What can I do for you?"

One nervously cleared his throat and stepped forward, clutching a piece of paper in both hands. "Hello. My name is Ryan," he read. "I am a boy scout. I am in troop 5-4-1. We are selling Krispy Kreme doughnuts for--"

"Oh no, not doughnuts!" I said, smiling. 

He glanced up, startled, then went right back to his paper. "--for a fundraiser. Would you like to purchase a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts? They are only $6. We will deliver them."

Spiel over, he let out a big sigh of relief and looked up at me. His friend, a small blond boy, had stood to the side and grinned at me the whole time without blinking.

I glanced at the paper, which was actually an order form with the script at the top. There were no names signed up on the sheet. 

Curses on my sentimental heart. 

"Sure, I'll buy a box," I said. 

"You will?? Cool!" (Is there any better feeling than knowing you just made some kids day by buying the cheap crap they're pedalling?)

I went inside and came out with a ten-dollar bill. "Do you have change?" I asked. 

"Let me ask my mom!" He started to race out to the street where his mom had a Suburban idling. 

"That's okay, that's okay," I said, pulling him back. "Can you take a check?"

"Um..." He scanned the all-powerful, all-purpose sheet. "Uh... hey, yeah! I can!"

Which is how it's come about that I'm having a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts delivered to my door on some random Saturday in July. I LOVE Krispy Kreme doughnuts. The chances of me being able to just toss these doughnuts when they arrive are slim to none. My only hope is to gift doughnuts to all the neighbors. 

After I sample one or two.