There's A Bug In My Bagel

And a square bagel at that, and that ain't no lie. Earlier today, I stopped at a local frommagier and picked up some Asiago cheese, of which I'm rather fond. I'm not afraid to say it, either, even though it smells like feet. Most quality cheese smells like feet (at best), or possible like something that crawled (or flew) behind a radiator and died. Asiago cheese is delicious if you melt it on a bagel and eat it with a little cream cheese. Unfortunately, heated Asiago cheese smells like feet times 1,000.

Some of you may be familiar with the pseudo-famous German Industrial Punk band, "Feet Times 1,000." Or perhaps not.

Regardless of that, a couple of days ago, I picked up some "everything" bagels (which is the very height of hyperbole) that were square. At first I was excited, as if so many of life's unanswered questions would be answered by a new bagel shape. I felt bad when I got home, though, as if I had been talked into sending a Nigerian banker some money to help him out of a jam; I had buyer's remorse. It's no big deal, but some food purchases really say a lot about who you are. Imagine the person who buys Lunchables. Yeesh. I don't want to think about what a square bagel says about me. Perhaps that I'm a petty fat fuck who eagerly purchases every new food product as soon as corporate America can shit it out. Like I'm really stymied in my daily life by the problem of a round bagel and a square toaster.

Square bagels I had, so earlier today I tried to make the aformentioned sandwich, and that's when I found a tiny insect crawling around. It was a poppy-seed with legs. Needless to say, I didn't make a sandwich. I gave the remaining bagels to the birds in the courtyard (they didn't mind the bug) and then sought to recover from a bout of the heebie-jeebies. They should sell a pill for that...the heebie jeebies. I suppose they do. It's much worse than chronic dry eye. Later on, I made an Asiago cheese sandwich with French bread, but it just wasn't the same. Although it was nice to find it bug free.

I can't help but think that I brought about this plague myself. A square bagel just isn't right. It's like a Jew that puts up a Christmas tree. Or maybe not, I don't know. I'm an atheist, but I have the brains to hedge my bets. I don't mess with the number 13, I don't put a hat on the bed, if I spill salt I fling some over my left shoulder, and I'm not going to buy or eat any more square bagels. It may not seem reasonable, but dammit it just seems right.

For some reason, I also lay my socks flat out on the floor every night with the soles pointing East. So I'm either really in tune with the mystical forces in the universe or I'm pathetically obsessive-compulsive. You decide. Surely, the little-bitty black bug on my bagel played a major role in my decision to avoid Thomas' square bagels. Nothing subtle about that. I just hope I never find a bug in my sweet, sweet lorazepam.