Don't Judge Me.

I'm so ashamed.

I left the office last night at midnight after filing my story, checking e-mail and doing some other tasks on the Internet.

As I walked out of the building, I couldn't shake a hankering for some hot dogs. The craving first began that evening during my town council meeting. It was a beautiful day outside and I think the fire department had lit up some coals.

Whatever it was, it smelled divine.

But now, I was in a dilemma. I had hotdogs at home, but they were frozen. And to top it all off, I had no buns.

Yes, I said it: I craved buns.

Faithful readers of this blog will recall my abhorrance to hot dog buns, calling them no less than bastions of elitism in prior posts. See, I come from a simple place, where buns are saved for special occassions. You just slap the meat (no homo) between a piece of bread and call it a day.

But last night, I wanted -- no, I needed -- hot dog buns. I just couldn't imagine the hot dog tasting the way I wanted without them.

So, I set out.

First stop, Stop & Shop. Got all the way to the door before I realized they closed at midnight. So I swing Dee-Dee around and head out to the highway. I'm plugging along when I see a gas station lit up like a Christmas Tree.

"Eureka," I think to myself. "Gas stations always have buns and hotdogs." Plus, I see an employee changing the garbage bag so I'm sure they're open. I pull in just as the employee heads back into the store. As I pull on the door, I see the employee disappear into the back room.

The door is locked.

Really, though? He couldn't have just said "no, we're closed?" Guess that's too much like right.

So, I come to grips with the fact that I may not be able to have hot dogs tonight because I'm running out of options. I hop on the express way and head home. Along the way, I see the sign for a CVS -- open 24 hours the bright red lights beckon.

I heed their call.

Inside, I troll the aisles, looking for bread and hot dogs. By now, it's 12:45 a.m. and I've worked up an appetite looking for hot dogs. I've decided I should buy potato chips as well. I make it to the bread section only to find it empty. I look in the chiller, and see only Lean Cuisine's and milk.

No hot dogs.

I head across the street to Brooks. Maybe I'll have better luck there.

I walk in and zero in on the food section. They have bread -- but no buns. I walk to the refrigerator and find -- yes!-- hot dogs. Fenway hot dogs to be exact.

Score!

I grab a bag of chips -- okay, two, but they were on sale -- and head to the counter. I ask the clerk if they sell buns, hoping I'd missed the large display where Brooks keeps their hot dog buns or something.

The bread man, he tells me, is coming in the morning. What I see is what they've got.

Shoot.

I take my purchases and leave. It's 1 a.m.

At home, I roll a piece of wheat bread around my Fenway dog and slather it in spicy brown mustard. I watch "Girlfriends" on my couch.

As I laugh at the shenanigans, I can't help but think that my hot dog would taste so much better if I only had a bun. If I only had a bun.

Marcus, I blame you for this.