I'm home

There's something nice and warm about donuts hiding deep down in a crumpled paper bag of love. Shove them down a plastic sando bag that survives the whims of an indifferent rain, and they won't be the same. Paper means risk - you could put the bag down on a damp table and the contents might drop through the tear. (If you soak us do we not go limp?) Hence the love. My wife bought us donuts last night - only two - there's only two of us. And I brought home the crumpled paper bag - I must have done most of the crumpling - and fixed us coffee while I wondered if the donuts got bored on the taxi ride home at 5 in the morning. The sun had not risen and our other cat (we have two) hadn't come yet when we divided the first donut - more of a cupcake, really - between us. What is it about the sound of crumpling paper bags that allure me? A gift that takes time to open up. The sound of something coming out - a surprise. The possibility that the donuts smashed against each other, with only me to blame, on the way home. Coffee, donuts, all that crumpling, and the hmm of this goes so well with coffee. Makes me feel loved, hugs me in a way that makes me say.... (read the title.)