Misplaced pronouns

So me and bread have this cycle. It begins at the grocery store, when I suddenly have really great intentions to start eating lots of sandwiches, rather than eating out. I usually attempt to seek out something from the wheat genre. I purchase the bread, usually along with a few sandwich accessories. Like a meat. Maybe a cheese. Possibly something green, if I'm feeling fat.

This little sandwich splurge usually occurs when I am hungry, and have made the mistake of shopping in such a weak, lustful state. When I get home, I create a delicious sandwich. Bread goes in the top shelf of my cupboard, perishables into the fridge NOT located in the kitchen, as anything that goes into that particular fridge that hasn't been sealed by the hand of God himself in some from of cryogenic sealing unit, is ultimately tainted by some malodorous flavor, the source of which is a mystery.

At this point I forget about bread for a few days.

Days later, I remember I have a loaf of bread slowly rotting in the cupboard. After thoroughly checking for mold, I build a sandwich. Upon consumption, I realize that the bread has a strange flavor. At this point, I assume that the bread is probably teeming with mold spores, just waiting to visibly flower upon the bread proper. Generally, I finish the sandwich, and then throw away the rest of the loaf.

That's what happens with me and bread.

Today, I created a chicken burger, roasted red pepper hummus, and laughing cow Swiss cheese--a French favorite, mind you--sandwich, and sat down to eat it. Immediately, even through the intensely potent amalgam of various flavors, I was able to pick out that all too familiar "weird" bread flavor. "Son of a bitch," I thought. "I just bought this bread like...a day ago."

So I ripped off a small corner, and ate that by itself in an attempt to place the taste. I ripped off another one. As I sat there chewing, I thought "Huh. This tastes like tranquil lavender. Why the hell does my bread taste like tranquil lavender?" m

Then I remembered. "Oh. Maybe because you store your bread in a cupboard, sitting on top of a box of tranquil lavender dryer sheets, idiot," I said to me.

I guess I've been consuming tranquil lavender essence for months now. I'm just thrilled to know that my kitchen cupboard really isn't a time bending bread trap, that somehow miraculously ages bread faster than the average cupboard.

Mystery solved, tranquil lavender sheets moved, one more bread loaf in the garbage can.

Me and bread are going to have quite a different relationship from here on out, methinks.