Even Dunkin' itself is even distancing itself from donuts. Their name is no longer Dunkin' Donuts, just Dunkin'. As if you can purchase any item for dunking into coffee.
Still, their display features rows and rows of glossy donuts. My daughter even has a favorite, which is strawberry frosted with sprinkles. I alternate between the French Cruller and the chocolate-frosted classic.
When we enter, I breathe a sigh of relief. The occasional commuter sweeps in for a coffee to go, but the rest of the shop is filled with children and their caregivers. (I always suspect the slender waifs are really nannies, but they could me mothers who are in better shape than I am.)
We sit down in a bright pink booth and nibble on our donuts. I give my daughter my phone to watch mindless YouTube videos featuring millionaires who open toys for the camera.
"Mom, how come that little girl gets to watch the phone?" a cherubic toddler asks.
"Some mommies let their kids watch the phone, but not me," the mom says.
My worry was misplaced. I'm mom-shamed for my phone instead of donuts.