Only good things come in a pink box

I'm a talker. (Not a surprise.) Sometimes I like to chat with other teachers/staff at school and share my thoughts and deepest desires. For example, last Wednesday I was talking with Stacy, a school counselor and pal, and mentioned how I check the donut case when I go to the grocery store in hopes of finding some glazed/iced/jelly-filled friend to come home with me. Luckily, I usually go after work when pickin's are slim so the temptation's not as strong. When I came into work last Friday Stacy had put a lovely pink box on my desk.
I opened it up and what did I find? See, that's the problem: I'm not really sure. It could be a life-saving device. It could be a spare tire for my sweet ride. It could very well be one of those things you're supposed to sit on after giving birth to relieve a bit of pain that may be felt in the bum region. Certainly no plastic fork was going to get through it.

Naturally, I did what any self-respecting pregnant lady would do: I waited until I could show it to Russell and then we ate it...for dessert on Friday, shared some with cousin Jonner who stopped by on account of "the storm" (AKA, he heard we had some pastry goodness), and ate the rest for breakfast the next morning. 3 people x 2 meals = big ol' donut.
Since then the little guy inside has been more move-y. Sugar rush? He's probably just excited about the thought that some day he'll get to eat more. So am I, buddy. So am I.