Something Light

When on vacation, I dress quicker than my wife, having less hair, and therefore less of a need to blow-dry it. With the extra time, I find myself waiting for her at the hotel restaurant.

“What will it be this morning?” asks the waitress.

Studying the menu, I am engaged in a fierce internal debate between “responsible” (fresh fruit), and “desirable” (hash browns, bacon, omelet, croissant). Adult overrules inner child and I order “something light," oatmeal.

Momentarily a bathtub-size basin arrives. Submerged in thick, rich, cream, smothered with a brown syrupy liquid of melted maple sugar, is my hot cereal. Realizing it's too late to ask for non-fat milk and sugar on the side, I reassure myself the faux pas won't harm my diet. Everyone knows unintended calories don't count; fat cells realize the error and disregard the weight gain.

The waitress places a platter of sugary condiments on the table before leaving. At first, I am inclined to resist them, but re-evaluate. Maybe this is a local tradition; it would be rude to offend our hosts. Besides, I'm on vacation; it's almost an edict that one sample new foods while traveling.

Rationale safely locked in place; to others I must appear to be an alchemist developing a brew in a caldron. I put in butter, honey, cream, yogurt (three flavors), strawberry jam, grape jelly, raw sugar, and cashews. I would mix in yet more but I'm concerned the table will buckle under the weight of my "light snack." The embarrassment could put a damper on my day.

Sipping down the concoction, I refill the bowl with sugary additives each time it drops below the rim. After a few iterations, I'm unsure any original oatmeal remains but I continue to add more flavorings as the rainbow swirl of reds, yellows, purples, and browns has me on a full-tilt sugar buzz and rational thinking is no longer an option.

My wife arrives, sliding into the booth as I clean the remains of the bowl. The inclination to use my finger like a spatula and scrape the edges is overruled in favor of a more mature demeanor.

She looks at the plate, "You ate already? I thought we were going to have breakfast together?"

"It was nothing, just a small bowl of oatmeal to hold me over."