Day 9

I would like to begin by taking care of some housekeeping items. Firstly because I’ve always wondered what housekeeping items actually were. Secondly because I have encountered many queries and apprehension in the past week. I will try to address this all in a chronological order:

-No, I have not surrendered and cheated on my bread- mutiny. There will be no white flag upon my door.

-Pizza is not considered bread (at least the way I make it at my flat, with white tortilla shells). Hence, I have been eating ‘pizza’ every day for either lunch or dinner, sometimes both.

-I DID happen to realize there were 40 days left of lent if the Sundays were subtracted from the original count of 46. This was another reason I felt justified in keeping Sundays separate from the everyday blunder that is now my life.

-Abstaining from spaghetti sandwiches has led me to the realization that to place one form of starch in between and/or rolled up inside another starch (with a bit of marinara sauce) is genius, and whom ever thought up the concept deserves a medal. Or at least a really big hug.

-I do tend to smell my food before I eat it, even if it’s scentless. I also don’t really cry as much as my blog would let on that I do. Really, I don’t.

I guess next order of business would be, bread, right? **By the way, kudos to the lone ranger who voted D on my poll. About time my audience got some hair on its chest.**

Bread in the past: There is a little book located here at Trinity College in Dublin. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s dreadfully old, and you can’t understand it (unless you happen to be from the 7th century). But it’s still awfully pretty to look at. There are many pictures of Jesus, and odd little angels and demons playing in the dips of ‘U’s and the swirls of ‘S’s. And there’s bread. In the hands of angels and little babies (we think they are babies but they could be Benjamin Button persons, they all tend to have the 5 o’clock shadow), but either way they have bread. Running around the pages and ducking into margins and under borders with their nibbles. Greedy little bastards.

Bread in the present: I have made it a habit to go to a small Italian café located close to campus, give or take every other week. It started as a meeting spot for my program to buy us students a coffee and croissant, but I have adopted it as my personal refuge. A few days ago us students met again there with our program directors for our free coffee and croissant (you would be MAD if you passed this shit up for free). And yet I did. I had to. Remember? Croissants count as bread, so I had a mocha. Thankfully I had a brilliantly chiseled Italian waiter to keep my bread-starved mind distracted.

Bread in the future: I am expecting my first states-side visitor this weekend. He is arriving on Sunday, and will be carrying a suitcase containing 50 lbs. of assorted things; most assorted of them all is bread! After all, if not for dire situations such as these, what are Dad’s for?