Big news, friends. Huge news. Yesterday a Dunkin' Donuts opened near me.

Perhaps the unbridled enthusiasm is unique to my neighborhood, but a Dunkin' opening isn't just buzzworthy; it's an event. You see, I live near a lot of other transplants who grew up with the doughnut chain, and previously, the nearest Dunkin' was an hour's drive away. One whole hour!

To understand the atmosphere leading up to the grand opening, try to imagine the first moon landing, the fall of the Berlin Wall and Bo Derek in "10" all deep-fried together and glazed in sugar. Have you imagined it? Great, you're about halfway there. Now imagine the birth of your children, Brad Pitt in "Legends of the Fall" and every cute cat video in the entire world brewed together, making the perfect cup of hot coffee. You still with me? Excellent. Now dunk that Buzz-Bo-Berlin baked good into your fresh drip of Baby-Brad-Bobcat brew. Take a bite. You taste that awesomeness? That is the taste of the euphoric anticipation that flavored my neighborhood in the past weeks.

Co-workers and I discussed the best time to go on opening day to avoid the worst of the long lines. Our faces turned red as we hotly debated the best coffees. Anger hit a fever pitch when someone had the gall to suggest it is time to retire the blueberry glazed doughnut. D(unkin')-Day had come. Alliances were made, and friendships were severed. It's moments such as these when you learn who your true friends are.

Determined to prove my devotion was stronger than that of my colleagues, I announced that I would be camping out the night before to become one of the first people in my neighborhood enjoying a hot Dunkin' coffee. And for a moment, I actually believed my own statement.

I grew up during a brief magical time when the Internet existed but had not blown up to what we have today. Social media played no role in any part of my education. Pictures of me trying to climb a clock tower in a bathrobe with boxers on my head were safe from being spread on the interwebs — not that any such photo exists. (Note to readers: Please don't contact my friends.)

Before the Web made everything easy to come by, the highly coveted required action. My favorite example of this was camping out for tickets. There was nothing like packing the car with foldout chairs, a cooler, blankets and a boombox and, for the next 18 hours, being surrounded by people my age who shared my obsessions. Festival tickets. Theater tickets. My first night backpacking abroad was dedicated to waiting in line for the newest "Harry Potter" book. In college, I spent a night in the snow to get a spot on a broomball team.

It's been years since I've camped out for an event. And now, finally, I had my chance. I spoke extensively with my co-workers about what I would pack in my overnight bag and how early I would arrive to ensure I would be the first person through the Dunkin' doors. I thought that arriving 16 hours before opening would be a safe bet; my co-workers thought I was nuts, assuring me no one would be in line more than two hours before opening. I fought back with conviction, saying I would prove them wrong, but I knew this was untrue.

How could I camp out? I barely make it to 9 p.m. without falling asleep these days. A toddler at home, a 20-week-old fetus inside, a full-time job and the doughnut chain's opening on a Tuesday. No, I would not be surrounded by my cooler and a boombox at 4 a.m.

And now I must admit a sad truth: I didn't even make it to the new Dunkin' Donuts on opening day. I arrived 30 hours after it opened, between my preschool drop-off and heading to work. I found a line going out the door, filled with moms, dads and career folk. And I realized that even if I had camped out, the experience wouldn't have been the same as in my youth. Sure, the other people would have been doughnut enthusiasts, but they would not have been my peers. These were my people now — folks who happily showed up to work an hour late for a chance to take a tiny dunk into their past. And I'm Coolatta with that.

Besides, the first person showed up 23 hours before the doors opened.

Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. Check out her column at http://didionsbible.com. To find out more about Katiedid Langrock and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.