Big Donut, Big Taxes

When I moved to the Washington, D.C., area in 1991, a friend introduced me to a giant donut called the “bear claw.” I loved them but haven’t had one in several years. I found one this morning in a coffee shop on the way to work and couldn’t resist.

I should have resisted because Aunt Virginia and her little sister (the city of Alexandria) robbed me of another 13 cents in taxes for the pleasure of imbibing in that giant donut. That made me sicker at my stomach than the sugar rush.

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