the one about bread ...

So I kind of had a little drama about bread last night. I'm kinda picky when it comes to the bread I eat/buy. Lately (and by lately I mean the past six months or so), the only bread for me has been Mrs. Baird's potato bread. So last night after work, I went to my H-E-B (the Hancock one) to get some necessities. One of these must-haves was, of course, my beloved potato bread. It was third on my list, and I tend to gather what is on my list in the order I have it on my list. So there I was, in the bread aisle, and there was regular white Mrs. Baird's bread where my potato bread usually is. So I wandered up and down that aisle for about 10 minutes, carefully searching for where my potato bread may have been misplaced.

No such luck. I abandoned my quest and went on gathering everything else on my list. After that was done, I checked out the express lanes (seeing as how I had only eight items), but they were all seemingly long. So it gave me an excuse to go search for my bread again. After 10 more minutes of searching, my beloved (if not bethrothed) potato bread was still not in sight, and I'm sure people were starting to notice my madcap search. So I opted to forget about the bread and purchase what I had already gathered.

I get home. I put away everything I just bought. I sit down for a moment. I fidget. I need my bread. I decide that I have to go to Randalls, seeing as how it's the next closest grocery store to my apartment. So I get in Zooey and drive to Randalls. Once I get there, I realize I haven't been to a Randalls since that time I went to Houston for Halloween with Joi back in 99. Or was it 98. I don't really remember, but that was the last time I had been to a Randalls. So I enter Randalls and look for the bread aisle. It's decimated. There's hardly any bread left. I spot the Mrs. Baird's logo. Alas, it's only the regular white bread. I leave, thinking "Hmmm ... the H-E-B near work isn't that far away." (It is, though. It's all the way at Braker and 183, which, you know, not so close to my apartment.)

I opt to drink to try and forget about my bread. I go over to Darien's to watch the Streetcar episode of The Simpsons (New Or-le-ans! Home of pirates, drunks and whores, New Or-le-ans! Tacky, overpriced souvenir stores, If you want to go to hell, you should take a trip to the Sodom and Gomorrah of the Mississip', New Or-le-ans!). We drink. I seemingly forget about the bread.

I go home. I fall asleep. I have a dream about the bread. There's nothing more disturbing than dreaming about bread, I'll tell you that. Not that it was a particularly disturbing dream, but the fact that I was dreaming about the bread I was obsessing about, that, my dear sir, is quite disturbing.

Long story short, I went to the H-E-B near work today on my lunch break and got me some potato bread. Now I can have a scrumptiouslishy avocado and feta sammie when I get home from work.

Man, my endings are always to anti-climactic. Oh well.