I would hope when you think of bagels you think of things like cream cheese, breakfast, or chocolate milk; any normal person would. Well, then, apparently I’m not normal because instead I think of blood, family, and hysterical crying. Incidentally this abnormality dates back to a certain family trip to Michigan when I was about 9 years old.

The day started off like any other during that vacation: me waking up around eleven and stumbling downstairs to see my family already up and running. As I stumbled downstairs that particular morning, with my stomach rumbling like a volcano, my nose sniffed out the scent of warm, fresh bagels. On the table next to my soon-to-be-breakfast was this excessively sharp butcher knife. Now, don’t ask me why my grandmother had a butcher knife on the table (that’s an entirely different story) but, being 9 years old and half asleep, I was too lazy to care. With no one paying attention to their not-quite-awake relative, I thought I’d help myself to a bagel.

Taking the butcher knife in my hand, I preceded to cut my bagel, thus beginning my breakfast. Singing a little song in my head, I thought everything was fine until I saw the little trickle of blood going down my finger. Surprisingly though, I didn’t panic, all I remember thinking was, “Oh my gosh! Is the bagel ok?”. Seeing that the bagel was fine, I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and tried to stop the blood now running down my wrist. The blood just kept coming though; it wouldn’t stop. This is when I started to panic a bit. I started pacing back and forth in the kitchen until my mom had to intervene. After playing the whole hide-it-behind-my-back scenario with my mom, me losing of course, she grabbed my grandmother and drove me to the urgent care.

There, we met my dad who was called and informed on the events beforehand. Upon sight of him, I started crying hysterically for no reason whatsoever. Even today, I have no idea why. The doctor, after hours of waiting and a little less of the crying, decided my fate which came to about 5 or so stitches. After closing my eyes on the whole sewing part and receiving my instructions of how to take care of my precious finger, I was free to get on with my vacation.

However, as it turned out, my pain was actually beneficial. I learned how to save a bagel in a time of crisis and I actually got to stay two extra weeks in Michigan. I would say the cut was definitely worth it.