great story
first, in order to fully appreciate this story, you need to know that my dad is blind. that means he can't see.
so, my father and my sister (amy) went out to wal-mart the other day for some quality shopping. they got out of the car, were walking into the store, and basically were right next to the doors.
my dad looked at my sister a bit perplexed, and said, "man...it smells like doughnuts."
my sister immediately burst out laughing. even a few minutes later when they were shopping down the aisles she was still laughing. my dad just couldn't take it any more and asked her what was so funny.
she responded, "when you said 'it smells like doughnuts' there was a cop standing right next to the door."
what a great man.
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BREAD PARTY UPDATE
Maxwell and myself will be unavialable Friday, so the date of the bread party has been changed to saturday. that means that sam, unfortunately you'll just have to be on your mystery vacation while we "party-it-up" in breadland. Time: to be determined...i'm guessing mid-afternoonish.
Labels: bread
posted by keuber @ 4:42 PM
6 comments
6 Comments:
Simply amazing!
The keen senses of your father, unintentionally just made my day.
Also, this Bread Party, will for sure be the highlight of my year. God, I can already taste the plump Pillsbury bread.
*mouth watering*
The taste!
The aroma!
It makes me wanna... whoops need to clean up the keyboard.
Hot-damn you guys suck. Do you doubt my appreciation for fine bread sandwiches?
If you can stave off your hunger for fine grains a bit longer than mid-afternoon, after I get off work at 5 I could supply the 'staches with a bread-maker for dainty morsels of exotic breads.
OH SNAP!
We could make our own bread! I'll bring some homemade raspberry jam.
I think a later start is definitely worth it for cam's bread machine. Plus, I'll be taking the SAT in the morning. And I think maybe keuber and sam?
nope, sorry max, no SAT for me.
this will be my first saturday to sleep in...well in roughly 7 months. so i'm going to thoroughly enjoy it.
and padre, if you can effectively make bread, the mustache organization will be eternally grateful.
Just call me Papa Pan.
Because "pan" in spanish means "bread."
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