My class was canceled last night. I drove all the way out there, but when I got there, the parking lot was mysteriously only half-full.  As I walked through the empty hallways, I had a sneaking suspicion I could've saved myself the drive. It's probably best I didn't, since three students did show up, but we all agreed some investigation should be done. Since I couldn't find anyone in the office, I asked two stoned-looking audio engineering students what was up. 

"I think Eagan's here," one of them said. 

"Heh heh, yeah," said the other.

"Who is 'Eagan'?" I asked.

"Oh, he's a professor."

"Great."  I tried to hold back my impatience.  "Could you ask him if there are night classes today?"

The curly-headed one disappeared down a long hallway, only to emerge in ten seconds.

"Well, I didn't ask him, but he normally has class tonight, and he's just sitting in his office alone."

Well, then.  Whatever.  I decided to check the Internet, which I should've just done in the first place. The Internet said no classes due to advisement.  I decided to take that under advisement to scoot home and hang out with Ma and the little angel...oh, and watch Boston Legal, which I never, ever get to do because it's on Tuesday nights. And oh, I am so happy I saw it, because I can now die having seen William Shatner dressed as a flamingo.

When I got home, the little angel had wallpapered the house in the filmy, sticky, holiday-themed thingies-that-stick-to-glass that my mother always brings.  They are ugly as sin, but the little angel loves them.  She had also removed every single book she owns (and this is a lot - I teach English, remember) from the cupboard where they are kept and had spread them across the floor, alpha by author. 

I sat down with the little angel in my lap, bunny slippers askew, and read her the book that has bagels baked into different shapes and labeled.  They all say things like "square" for the square one - I bet you can guess the rest - but the last one is a bagel face with eyes and a smiling mouth. It's called "happy."  When I finished the book, the little angel picked it back up, shoving the others away like a quarterback, and shoved it in my face.  "Happy," she demanded.  "HAPPY."

We read it three times.  And I was happy.