But I know where you can find one, if you'd like to drive to Kensington, Md., and fish it out of a Dumpster.
Devon and I drove down to DC to see Misty, his friend who was visiting from Colorado. She was a little nauseated after spending an hour in the car looking for a section of town that we never found because it probably got sucked into the Hellmouth. Devon thought a helping of homemade ginger ale would be just the thing to settle her stomach, and it did -- the hard way.
It's weird -- now that I don't live in DC, it no longer feels like the soulless, oppressive, empty shell of a city I remember. Or maybe that was just the company I was keeping at the time. We got to tour the Capitol building, which I'd managed to miss in the two years I was there, before meeting up with Pukemaster Ewegen.
And I got a bitchin' bread machine for my birthday, the kind that sends your bread back in time so little old ladies can knead it with their freakishly strong hands and make it smell like homemade awesome. Yes, it's that good.
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I don't think one measly bag of puke makes me a pukemaster... a puke apprentice maybe.
ReplyDeleteYou undervalue yourself.
ReplyDeleteNote to self: either a) never drive with Devon or b) always let Misty ride in the front seat or c) both.
ReplyDeletewhat kind of little old ladies? italian ones? french ones? irish ones? does it depend on the ethnicity of the bread? ps...i just got rid of my breadmaker...it was soul-less and filled with hatred. so i gave it to my mom.
ReplyDeleteIt toally depends on the ethnicity of the bread. Otherwise it's mutt bread.
ReplyDeleteDo you make bread by hand now? I think I know the answer to that question...
I have a deep, lasting, committed relationship to my breadmaker which came to me from Heaven via Freecycle.
ReplyDelete