Fresh baked bread turns nasty...

Fresh baked bread is one of my favorite things in the world. I often enjoy a hunk of it when I am eating a bowl of pasta or a slice of lasagna. I love to pick out my bread at the farmer's market sometimes on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I bake it accordingly; I follow the instructions that I can hardly read on the package. Sometimes I drizzle it with olive oil when the bread is crispy.

A few days ago my loaf of bread turned nightmarish when I felt something wiggling in my mouth-- It wasn't a small penis. The mysterious object tickled my gums until I parted my lips and drew it out. The long strand of blonde hair almost made me retch. I stepped away from the bread and began to wonder about the hair and the person behind it. Was it a man or a woman's hair? How much effort was put into the craft of making the bread? Surely, it could not have been a man's hair. I surmised that it belonged to a beautiful mother of three. She did not use her hair net that day, and thus ended up victimizing me. Perhaps she secretly wanted to communicate with me. I turned on the radio and put on a sad song to take me away to a place where I could regain my appetite.