Things would be so much better if everybody just did what I want.

My wife came to me the other day with a jar of soup she had bought. She wanted me to taste it before she threw it out, to make sure I agreed with her that it was so bad we shouldn't even try to eat it.

I tasted it. I threw it out.

It wasn't cheap, either. It was the French onion soup by Rao's. Rao’s is pricey, but their tomato sauce is superb and their dried pasta (both of which are also pricey) is excellent. Their first cookbook is an absolute classic. So we tried their soup.

It was so sweet you could barely taste the onions. The sweetness hit you in the face like a halibut.

Only then did my wife check the nutrition information on the label. Just one cup contains 9 grams of sugar. To see exactly how much sugar that is, I weighed 9 grams of granulated sugar and it came to nearly two full teaspoons. For a cup of French onion soup.

Onion soup is naturally sweet. The simple act of caramelizing onions by slowly cooking them in oil brings out the inherent sweetness in the onions — that's why it's called caramelizing. But this stuff was practically dessert.

If everybody did what I want, all onion soup would be savory.

I recently found myself driving through the almost unbearably charming town of Annapolis, Maryland. We stopped for gas and thought it might be nice to have a little breakfast.

It was 1:45 p.m.

This is not unusual for me. I am a night owl. I have been one since high school. When people say “Nothing good ever happens after midnight,” I always think, “Nothing good ever happens before noon.”

It was a quarter to two, and we were feeling breakfasty. My wife remembered that there is a truly great bagel place in town, Naval Bagels. The name makes more sense when you recall that Annapolis is home to the U.S. Naval Academy.

As I pumped the gas at what literally may have been the slowest gas pump in the country, my wife looked up how to get to Naval Bagels from where we were. By the time I (finally!) got back into the car, she had bad news: They close at 2 p.m. Even if we could get there in time, we don’t want to be those people who go to a shop just as they’re trying to lock the door.

I couldn’t believe it. Who closes a bagel store at 2 p.m.? That’s prime breakfast time, or at least lunch.

I get that my hours might not be the same as other people’s. In many ways, that’s great for me. Imagine going through life and almost never encountering traffic. But bagel shops and other places I want to go to ought to be required — by law, if necessary — to stay open until at least 3 p.m., if not 5 p.m.

We were disappointed, but not for long. My wife noticed a national bagel chain right across the driveway from the gas station.

We walked in. Even though there were people at a couple of tables, the place looked empty and a little desolate. Only then did I take another look at the door.

They close at 2 p.m., which was just a few minutes away. They were obviously getting ready to shut down. We were those people who wanted to get in just as they’re locking the door.

We ordered as quickly as we could, apologizing all the while and explaining that we both worked in restaurants in our youth and we know how everyone hates the last table that just never leaves.

But think how much better life would be if everyone just did what I want and bagel shops were open all afternoon long.

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