Memory Lane … The Bavarian Donut

I’ve always wanted to visit Lucban, Quezon and see the chandeliers and colorful designs during the Pahiyas (jewels) Festival. There’s just one problem.

My old friends are familiar with Bavarian Donut*, and I’m not talking about the dessert from Dunkin’s. BD is a particularly annoying individual who managed to bother me for two years. “Bother” is an understatement; “stalked” or “terrorized” are closer to the truth. I don’t know how he kept it up as my patience snapped after three months. Maybe he thought extreme persistence was a virtue. (lol)

He lives there. And I could still remember one traumatic conversation where I was rudely interrupted from work by an uninvited visitor in the office. He started telling me about his nearly-finished house and his plans to make me live there with his parents.

He was almost a stranger. I was 20. I was mortified. And meek, provincial housewife does not really become me.

My life has been Bavarian Donut-free for more than a year now. I had to transfer departments and change my phone number but it was worth it.


* He wasn’t sweet. Nor was he light, creamy, or Bavarian. I chose the nickname because after several indescribable episodes, I started daydreaming about turning him into a donut with my magic wand and squashing him under my heel.


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