The greatest thing since...

The bread has gone bad.

At least, I guess it has. It has been living in the fridge for a longer period of time than would be edible at room temperature.

When I got it I immediately put it in the refrigerator. A few days (ok, maybe a week or so) later I pulled it out to make a sandwich, and it was... damp. Ew. I didn't know bread twist-tied and stored in the fridge would be subject to moisture. Ew.

I toasted it and made my sandwich anyway.

The bread isn't wet anymore though. Somewhere during its time in cold isolation, my loaf of bread dried its carbohydrate eyes and hardened its once floury heart. And by once floury heart, I mean its entire body. Hardened past normal for cold bread. Drier than crunchy autumn leaves.

Thus, I am left with cold, dry, bad bread.

Thankfully, all that is left of the loaf are three sadly deformed slices and a single, lonely heel. Where the other one went, I do not know. The leg of the sock-shaped bag is wound around the foot like a bandage, the blue bunny face wrinkled and angry looking in the folds of plastic. I can't bring myself to toss the unhappy package in the garbage can. I doesn't taste bad, exactly. With enough PB&J slathered on, you can hardly tell you're practically eating cardboard.

One more sandwich and a piece of toast and I'll finally be finished with the whole affair. No more bad bread for me, no sir! I'll get a fresh loaf and pray it doesn't go through the same series of deterioration as its predecessor.

Until then, does anybody want a sandwich?