In normal households, there are delicious treats such as frosted cupcakes, sugar-sprinkled doughnuts, and double-chocolate muffins with giant chocolate morsels littering the insides. These would be considered luxuries for most, and when they’re in the house once on a full moon, it’s a grand day to be had.
Not in my house, though.
When you grow up with a mother who’s also a closet-nutritionist, seemingly normal things to have in the cupboard, such as white bread, whole milk, and cream cheese are just as scarce as the double-decker chocolate muffin. Bagels are near the top of that list, if not at the very zenith.
That’s why one Saturday morning, when I clambered down the stairs in a sleepy stupor, wiping the sanded grit from my still tired eyes, I had to stop and ask my already giddy father to repeat what he had said:
“We have bagels.”
Those words would not form into an intelligent sentence for me. I stared at him, blinking slowly, waiting for him to throw his hands into the air and exclaim “April Fools!”, even though the month is almost over. This is the same man who, when I was 16, thought it would be hilarious to set a toy blue Volkswagen Beetle with psychedelic flowers all over it in the middle of the garage, and then led me out with a blindfold over my eyes and told me he bought me a car. That’s just the way he is.
Refusing to believe him that rainy Saturday morning, I padded over to the bread/cereal cupboard and slowly opened the old doors. Sitting there on the bottom shelf, all wrapped up in its plastic bags, were several bagels.
Mind you, these were the thin bagels that were supposed to be healthier for you, but they were still bagels.
There were bagels in the house.
If you thought I was exited to see my favorite coffee creamer back in stock at my local Walmart, you’ve never seen me with half a bagel in one hand, and the other half dangling from my mouth.
I was dancing all around in the kitchen, squealing with the same ferocity and enthusiasm as a kid racing to freedom on the last day of school.
I already had my bagel in the toaster and was just about to push down the button when my dad called over his shoulder and said:
“Oh, by the way, there’s cream cheese in the fridge too.”
L.J. LaBree 