Bob eased his walker along the display case full of every kind of doughnut imaginable. His grandson Liam focused on his phone, stood behind him. Bob reached the end of the case and slowly turned to walk a third time in front of the doughnuts.

Liam sighed and slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Granddad? Really? Can’t you just pick a doughnut? Hell, pick a dozen, I don’t care, but they are waiting on us.”

“Let ‘em wait,” Bob said and took two shuffling steps then stopped to scan the display case again.

“Why do you have to have a doughnut? We’re gonna eat if we ever get there,” Liam’s hands flapped as he spoke.

“Ah, your mother can’t cook.”

“Have you decided yet?”

“I can’t find what I want. You’d think with all these damn doughnuts they’d have a plain doughnut hidden somewhere,” Bob lifted the walker and gave it a vicious shake.

The woman behind the counter finished with her customer and walked towards Bob.

“Good morning sir,” she smiled, her full focus on Bob. “Can I help you find something?”

“You have anything that resembles a plain doughnut?” Bob said, his gaze never leaving the long case.

“Of course, sir,” she grabbed a paper and as if by magic presented plain cake doughnut to him.

“Nah, not that plain. Aren’t doughnuts supposed to have some sort of icing.”

“I think I know what you are looking for” she disappeared the offending doughnut, slid two steps right and offered Bob a glazed doughnut. “Is this it?”

“Where did you find that? Yes, that’s it.”

“How many?”

“Better make it two dozen.”

“Granddad,” Liam’s voice raised, and he touched Bob’s arm. “Are you sure we need that many? Mom is cooking.”

Bob snorted, “Exactly.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer