“Holy crap!” is not really the polite way to greet a coworker, especially one I haven’t seen in months, early in the morning. But she had this little packet of doughnuts bearing the distinctive Krispy Kreme font. After my eyes stopped bugging out of my head at this wondrous baked good before me, she explained that she’d just bought them at the vending machine on our floor.

“They go fast, though,” she warned. Was that her just protecting her snack-donut turf, or pointing to a legitimate floor-wide Krispy Junior obsession that I hadn’t heard about? The latter is totally possible, since I only ever leave my desk to use the bathroom, and never chat with anyone, even though I’ve been showing up for work here every so often since 2000. (Ah, the joys of freelancing.)

Anyway, I just hustled down and bought me a pack of these Krispy Juniors before said coworker got them all herself, or whatever it is that happens to them. I have such a soft spot for mini donuts. Although I’m sure they would taste wretched to me now, those chocolate-covered ones with the bright yellow cake were really the best treat ever when I was young–I think they were only, like, 40 cents in the high school snack bar, which to me seemed like the most sugar for your dollar, and an intriguing texture sensation to boot. The “chocolate” coating was so waxy that it would leave unsightly brown flecks on your front teeth if you weren’t careful. The powdered ones were good in a pinch.

But enough reminiscing, because I’ve got this nasty taste in my mouth, and I won’t get up to get some water until I’m done typing this.

See, I just ate a Krispy Junior. It sucked. About two-thirds of the way through the tasting experience, it gave off some hideous chemical flavor, and it still hasn’t gone away. I guess the solution would be just to eat another donut. Because at the beginning, it wasn’t so bad. They’re the cinnamon-sugar variety. So, OK, a little dry, dusty, cinnamony at first. Then some cakiness–but very dry cakiness. Not the glaze-sodden glory of a fresh KK cake donut. Then that hideous chemical explosion. Ack. Coughing. At least I won’t be eating the whole package (6 mini donuts total) and then feeling gross about the hydrogenated fat. (My bad cholesterol is precisely 100, I just found out. One point higher and I’d be in big trouble, apparently.)

Putting the Krispy Kreme label on these donuts–which clearly come from some sub-par donut factory in Kazakhstan using cast-off equipment from the Hostess plant–reminds me of some Oscar de la Renta luggage I owned many years ago. Like, why would that guy, the king of evening gowns, be designing luggage for me? Especially luggage that I’m buying at T.J. Maxx? KK had better watch out for brand dissolution. I’d muse further, but I’ve got to get a glass of water.