There are some appalling events happening in the world today. But as conscientious as I am, Im far too distraught by another more pressing, harrowing event.
My bread is broken.
I hope you can now begin to fathom the depths of my hurt and frustration.
Im very protective over my bread. Not just any bread, this is the business. My secret special bread. Mmmmm baby.
Admittedly, its very wobbly, floppy and thin. Like a gutted fish. So its prone to breaking.
But, 'Bo', for it was he who served me, showed a callous, unfeeling disregard for this thing of culinary beauty.
Did he ask if I wished for it to be folded in two? Oh no, just an emotionless snap down the middle, and suddenly my bread is dead.
Did he think to himself, 'hmm, monsieur, this is a divine gift from the bread gods...what way of cutting or slicing it would do it justice? I must ask, I must...for how could I live with myself without allowing this bread to be shown the respect it deserves. I just hope, no, I pray that monsieur is as caring and gives this bread his undying love and gratitude.'
No. He didnt.
Its alright Bo, I didnt want to sensuously slather it in butter along its length, playfully tickle its belly with moist lettuce, then overwhelm it with a loving blanket of ....well, do it my way.
Actually I did. And now I cant.
And all because of some clueless bakery monkey with little regard for the customer.
Twat.