Today you visited me in the form of a cinnamon roll, disappointment. A roll that looked so rich and caramelized on the platter. A roll with promise.

But once bitten into you were stale, dry, crusty without being crispy, and the icing that coated your top was bland and hard. No yummy raisins lurked on your depths, only the ashen mockery of a morning treat.

You won this round disappointment, but but I vow that ultimate victory shall be mine.