This is the donut that the others don't like.
"Others" as in Hawkins and Hayden.
I don't know what's wrong with 'dem boys, but Reid and I know what time it is. They're sour cream donuts, and neveryoumind that I got them off the Manager's Special cart at Kroger because they were about to expire. They are damn good. Only the others don't recognize it. But we do. "They've got little pools of cream at the very bottom, Mom." I know, baby. I know.
More for us. Less for them. Guess what donuts I'm buying from now on? No...that would be mean.
And this same boy with the clearly mature palate called me from school:
Boy: "Did you see where I put my five dollars?"
Me: "What? I gave it to you this morning in the hall and said not to lose it!"
Boy: "I know. But where did I put it?"
Me: "I don't know. You lost it?"
Boy: "I can't find it."
The boy proceeded to put the phone down in his classroom where he was calling from and rummage through his jeans pockets and his coat pockets and still, no five dollar bill. We went back and forth for a while about whether or not he wanted me to bring him money for lunch in the cafeteria (he didn't). He really was just calling to see if I knew where it was (I didn't).
Until I got off the phone and went into the living room and this is what I saw:
I left it there so that when he got off the bus he could find it himself. Satisfying. Maybe I'll even warm him up a donut for an after-school snack.