Personal Narrative: My Cinnamon Toaster

Never will I ever forget the Sunday morning when I jumped out of bed and plopped my Cinnamon Toaster Strudel into the toaster carelessly, moments before my world turned upside down.

I awoke to the echoes of my mom 's voice shouting my name at the early hour of eight o 'clock. It was time to rise out of bed so I could ingest some breakfast before having to fast for Mass. I obeyed the woman who gave me the gift of life by hopping out of bed promptly. I was actually very excited to eat my Cinnamon Toaster Strudel; having this for breakfast was a little recess every once in a while from the quotidian bowl of Cheerios and milk. I placed the pastry into the rightmost slot, turned the dial to the lowest setting, and pulled down the lever with enthusiasm. During the 365 days I was waiting for it to finish, I amused myself by fiddling with the icing bag, and even sneaking a little taste on my fingertip. At last, the golden brown breakfast pastry sprung from the top of the toaster. I smeared the rest of the unhealthy, white supplement on top and observed it drip over the sides. Finally, I bit into the piece of golden heaven, for what I wish I had known was my piece of nourishment for fourteen hours.

Midway through that delicious chew, I was almost certain that a stranger had broken into my house and stabbed me in the side with a steak knife, but

When we arrived, my mom gripped onto my shoulder as we walked into the empty waiting room of the walk-in-clinic. I was relieved yet somewhat melancholy to know that my pediatrician was the one on call that morning. I was relieved because he was my primary doctor and truly was the best, but I was troubled because I honestly could not stand the man. He was by far one of the most intelligent human beings I had ever encountered, but very complacent and conceited. I 'm not going to lie; my little sobriquet for him was Dr.