If there were gods and they wanted to reward mankind by making their best angels construct a delight from pure happiness then they would have made Cinnabons.
My daughter went to the Mall of America and as per house rules she brought home a cinnabon for her dad. It was late but I got up and sat on the foot of the bed and prepared to coat my fingers with gooey sticky happiness. I’m used to buying Cinnabons by the dozen, mainly because my head can fit in the box, and I assumed that the properties of this smaller box would at least be equal to or greator than the properties of the larger box.
But it wasn’t.
My daughter handed me a glass of milk, also part of the Cinnabon rule, and as I turned to place it on my night stand the box, which must have been infused with demons and all that is evil in the world, opened up on one side. The Cinnabon glurped out landed inverted on the bed. Only I was sitting on the foot of the bed. The part where my faithful, trusting dog Ubis always curls up to protect me from things that go bump in the night. The one spot with more dog hair than the dog itself in spite of my best efforts to keep it clean.
I had to muster all my knowledge of Newtonian solids which I knew still wouldn’t be enough for Cinnabons are etheral and do not obey the common laws of physics. I did Google searches and called wisemen. I prayed and chanted to several gods. I used microscopes and tweezers and muscle and sheer will power to gently lift the violated gift from angels back into it’s box and pluck all the tiny hairs from the very goo that created all the good in the universe.
After what seemed like centuries, I scarfed it down like a whale sucking krill.
Yes, I know now that many of you will never come near me now but I postulate that in 13 years of living with Ubis I surely must have sucked in a hair or two. And Cinnabons have always been there for me and the sheer magic that brings their ingredients together is the same magic that could turn whatever hair may have remained into rainbows of delight. I do not regret my decision nor do I live in shame.
Do not judge me lest you are put in a position to cast away the very force that breaths life into every firery sunset, the very element of pure ecstacy.
And dammit, I’d do it again.