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before I could speak, the young woman working there said "Maple old fashioned?" My heart sank and my face burned. Yes, that was the doughnut I always ordered. And it wasn't until she anticipated my request that I had any awareness that I was going there frequently enough for her to know my preference. I seem to recall that I responded with a dazed "Uh huh" before leaving with my maple old fashioned and then going to my car to cry. She didn't mean to hurt me but to serve me. And serve me she did. All at once, I was painfully aware of my habit of an afternoon pick-me-up consisting of dreaming my
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