White Bread Happiness

This morning, waking up groggily after a deliciously long and unprovoked sleep, after I shuffled heavily to the kitchen to grab my coffee, I noticed a rather unusual stack in plastic. The little square plastic grab on the top was the giveaway. By GOD! It was a stack of factory style white bread.

For everyone in North America, this is YOUR bread. White or whole wheat, always soft, and always cubic. It's the sort of bread that you must have to make a proper grilled cheese sandwich. It's the sort of bread that's stuffed full of plastic to keep it squishy. I used to pull off all the crusts, then smash the white fluffy innards into a dense ball, which I then could nibble in front of the TV. It's the type that begs for a PB and J experience.

I think this is Dacnar's reaction to my proclamation this week about heading back to NAmerica for good. Is this the first step in a reclamation process? Nice... but contradictory. I know my stomach would regret leaving france, but not the corner of my brain that knows where its green pastures are. I don't want to live in a permanent state of hunger.

So, there you have it, I found my jar of peanut butter, carefully culled from a speciality store since peanut butter tends to come either in cans, or in substandard jars, and smashed it on two slices... dug out the prune jelly I'd forgotten in the back of the fridge, and smashed that on. PB and J, with a good coffee, newspapers, pajamas. This girl is happy... even if she's waiting for a certain somebody to hurry up and get online already. YOU! Wake up YOU!