We're not getting much use out of the donut costume these days.

If you're raising an eyebrow at the degraded spelling, let me assure you that the outfit I allude to is most definitely designed to look like a "donut" and not a "doughnut". The fact that it doesn't actually look much like either is beside the point.

One evening in late 1988, Hilary and I were relaxing over a glass of wine when she suddenly remembered something. "Oh," she said, matter-of-factly. "I almost forgot to tell you about a funny thing I saw in the Pennysaver. Someone was selling a used donut costume."

Initially, I had trouble processing all this. A classified ad for a used donut costume seemed, as a moment of living art, too good to be true. And the idea that Hilary "almost forgot" to relay such a message was virtually inconceivable. "What?" was all I could manage.

"Unless I dreamt it." Now that was plausible. But if so, it had been a very vivid dream, and Hilary was already leafing through the weekly buy/sell rag to get to the bottom of this. When she found what she was looking for, she burst out laughing, her broken words conveying through the guffaws that it was only now sinking in how wonderfully absurd it all was. I joined her in uncontrollable laughter, which took a suitably long time to subside.

Finally, as the laughter receded, the moment for serious discussion arrived. "How much?" I queried.

"They're asking two hundred."

"Two hundred? For a used donut costume?"

"It's adult size, it says."

What it said, in full, was "CUSTOM MADE DONUT COSTUME, adult size, paid $800, sell $200."

"Well, if it's custom made, maybe it's a really good one," I conceded. Not that I had much basis for comparison. Being curious and not particularly shy, I made the phone call.

The phone call elicited the following details:
1) The donut costume was a mint donut costume (the term in italics being a flavor, not a description of the item's condition), custom-designed to promote a short-lived enterprise called Mistermint Doughnuts. (Evidently, their edible ones were not "donuts".) From what I understood, all varieties of doughnuts served at Mistermint Doughnuts had been mint-related. I believe "peanut-butter-mint" was offered to me as an example of a typical menu item. I have often regretted that I did not ask for additional examples, as the concept continues to boggle my mind.
2) Despite my decent skills as a bargainer, $200 was a price as firm as a stale doughnut. "If we can't get at least two hundred for it, we'll just keep it and let the kids play with it," I was told. "We paid eight hundred for it," I was reminded — which was probably true but was, to put it bluntly, not my problem. "Now we don't have any use for it." (But "the kids" evidently did.)

Hilary was ready to get in the checkout line and make a purchase, but I had yet to be convinced that a used donut costume (adult size) was something we really needed to own. Personally, I thought I might be content to own just the experience of laughing uncontrollably over the ad.

The next step was obvious to both of us: call Clarence and Winifred. Among our friends and family, Clarence and Winifred have the well-earned reputation of being even nuttier than we are. Hilary and I knew that there was no way a momentous donut-related decision could be made without consulting them.

"Buy!" was the message from C & W. And this was not merely a typical Clarence and Winifred exhortation (Clarence is particularly good at urging us to do the nutty things he and Winifred conceive but which, for obscure reasons, they are not actually going to do themselves). On this occasion, their money was where their mouths were. Yes, they were committing to 50% of the investment -- a particularly sporting position for them to take when we considered that Hilary and I would inevitably get custody. After all, we live on a reasonably spacious property in the country, while C & W at that time inhabited a cramped apartment and stowed bulky items (e.g. multi-piece, outdoor-scale conceptual art installations) in their parents' garages. I was pretty sure that Clarence and Winifred's parents would make certain that the donut costume came to live with me and Hilary for the forseeable future, 50% or no 50%.

All this being said, I was still not of the opinion that the purchase was strictly necessary. But now I had been outvoted 3 to 1 by shareholding partners, and -- well -- fair's fair. And I certainly had no objection to owning a used mint donut costume (adult size).

When we collected the ensemble (yes, it is accessorized), we were disappointed to observe that it was indeed a little the worse for wear -- down to the detail of harboring a strong but not-particularly-doughnutty aroma. Well, after all, this thing could not possibly fit in a washing machine, and I suspect it would not be welcome at a dry-cleaning establishment either. We were especially sorry to note that despite its custom make, the costume did not look much like a donut -- as I've hinted above. Oh, I suppose it resembles a donut more than a muffin, for example. But please don't ask me about the "mint" trim, or I'll really start to feel like we should have pulled out of the deal. I do take some comfort in the fact that the advent of the graphical computer interface spares me now from having to actually describe Mistermint Donut for you. I have thoughtfully provided you with one jpeg — which is, in my opinion, as many mint donut jpegs as any of us need. (Though I myself have at least three on my hard drive.)

A decade and a half down the road, I can tell you from personal experience that the uses of a used mint donut costume are distinct but limited. These include:
1) Walking down the streets of Manhattan, which elicits heartwarming displays of friendliness from otherwise-blasé pedestrians. (This was the high point.)
2) Annoying one's boss by arriving in said costume at a company holiday party to which no one has been encouraged to wear costumes of any kind. (This was the low point.)
3) Dressing up a rock band video. (This was a good use for an otherwise-idle donut costume.)

Clarence has from time to time suggested other uses for the costume; but you'll get the general idea of these suggestions when I tell you that he is the only one of us who is too tall to wear the outfit himself.

Did we make a good choice when we bought the Mistermint Donut costume? No. We made the only choice.