Fried windchill

Walking out of the gym this winter I was hit square in the face by something delicious; no, not the -15 windchill, that was cruel not yummy. What hit me was the smell of fried food; warm, delicious food; the kind of food that makes your thighs expand just smelling it. It wasn't just any fried dish that wafted around my bare neck, it was mini donuts. Getting excited about the prospect of some Tiny Tom's, state fair style, I took a step to the right and sniffed the air; nothing. Turning to the left I took a step in the opposite direction but again came up with nothing. I stepped the right again but stopped when I realized I was right outside the gym's glassed treadmill room doing what probably looked like a snowy Electric Slide or Macarena.
Shuffling down the sidewalk I thought, "It is probably for the best. I mean, I did just work out and all." But I didn't mean it. What I really meant was, "I don't care that I just worked out, I WANT MINI DONUTS." Clearly.
At the parking ramp I made sure I never looked at the stairs because if I didn't acknowledge their presence they couldn't make me feel guilty for taking the elevator. Another diet/exercise truth that ran through my head is that if the food is free the calories don't count and, according to Mentor Pam, if no one sees you eating something naughty then it never happened. Rules of the Universe; it's true stuff.