DECEIT, THY NAME IS BAGEL

I have no aspirations to become the Andy Rooney of the Evangelical world, but I'm trying to find out what there is about a bagel, or what mischievous purpose some chef de cuisine cooked up (pardon the pun!) for that sugarless confection, that requires it to advertise itself as "sliced," all the while prankishly knowing it was really joined in the middle!

How often have I pulled one of those round (sometimes oval) little bakery delights from its grocery store bag, thinking it would welcome my waiting cream cheese, but finding it tenaciously resisting a speedy journey to fulfill the created purpose of its impish existence.

What should a godly man do under such recalcitrance? Certainly he would patiently acquire a sharp knife from the drawer and firmly split that stubborn culinary freak in two.

But since, at that time, I am more hungry than godly, I try to quickly claw it open with my less than dextrous pair of hands. Result? Two pieces of torn-to-shedded bagel parts that are no longer suited to my snacking aspirations. And I think to myself, "Oh, the intolerable burden of life. Fooled again!" I find myself feeling like Charlie Brown – fodder again for Lucy's fiendish delight. Will I never learn? Why don't they put a warning sign on those bags to forearm the "galactically stupid" of their deceitful intentions?

What do I do now? Easy! There's always the straightforward pretzel – twisted, but transparently honest.