Bread Box

When The Boy and I first started dating, he brought a take and bake pizza over and we were going to watch a movie. While I was doing something in the back of my house, he started the oven.

Without looking inside.

The problem was that I never used my oven. At least not for cooking. It’s where I stored Oreos and bread.

Why?

Consider this, the bread I left in a bag on the floor while I ate the cheeseburger I’d picked up on the way home from the grocery store, exhibit A.

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I don’t think Oliver actually likes bread, but he does love plastic. Especially noisy plastic.

I once left Oreos in the table over night and woke up to a hole in the plastic – and the Oreos chewed on in a perfect circle, within a kitten nose radius.

And that’s why there’s not much bigger than MY bread box – it cooks two pizzas at a time.

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We’re all sleeping upstairs again but that means I’m working at my desk again. Obi approves… As long as he can nap on my laptop.

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