The Underground Mini-loaf

I tried another new recipe this weekend, one from one of the cookbooks I got for my birthday/Christmas. Instead of making it in a full size loaf pan, I used the mini pans since I was going to give some away to friends and a neighbor. I love mini-loaves. I bring one to work and one woman is asking why it's so small, is it for the mini-employees? She goes on and on about the size. Has she never seen a min-loaf before? Look just eat the damned thing, or don't. I don't care. Then another one, the receptionist, said she couldn't eat any because of the oral surgery she had last week. Fine.

The receptionist just announced that she was going to eat the last piece and asked what kind it was (like I hadn't made the announcment about 20 times already). Chocolate rum banana. "Why do you have rum in the house?" Because when I gave the liquor store my money, they gave me a bottle of dark rum and since I'm not sure about open container laws in this state, I thought it best to keep it in my house? What the hell kind of question is that. Then, it's followed by another, "Who said you could have rum in your house?" Which answer do you want? The one where I write the mortgage check or the one where the US government said so since I'm over 21? I chose both. Then she said that rum was too strong for her.

Then don't eat the bread.
I already touched it.
Then throw it away.

My God, woman! She ate it, she liked it. Ho-ly crap!

Now I really need some rum. Perhaps I'll walk down to the mini-mart when I get home for a Coke.

Clementine IM'd me this morning at 12:15, but I'll leave that story for tomorrow since I have a few things to finish up here before hiking out to BFE to my car. Damn snow shrinking the parking lots.

Gripe. Gripe. Gripe.