I love the local donut shop. They use the same old Amy Joy recipes I remember from my far-away childhood in Cleveland.

The elderly eponymous owner always stuffs 14 or 15 donuts into a dozen box. His son, maybe in his mid-40s, is a brash loud friendly fellow who always gives you two apple fritters when you ask for one, two cinnamon rolls when you ask for one.

The grandsons, though. I blame the absolutist rule-following equity we (they and I) had drummed in throughout the last four decades of primary education: Rules meant to be followed, not broken. If I do it for you, I’ll have to do it for everybody. The sign says “twelve”.

They give me what I ask for, not what I expect.

Too much of a stretch, jumping from an exact dozen donuts to prediction of the collapse of modern society?

“One measures a circle beginning anywhere.”