Fancy Talkin'

I like language...words, phrases, double entendre, metaphors, similies and so on. I use all sizes and shapes of words, but always try to ensure they are warranted and purposeful. So I am fond of eloquence and descriptive terms to explain things, people and feelings.

Today, I ran out to grab a quick bite. I found some scrumptious-looking pimento cheese (back on the Southern food diet again), and needed a high quality carb on which to slather it. I wandered over to the bakery counter and found some multi-grain baguettes that, in my mind, minimized the guilt of the absurd calories in the cheese.

I asked the girl for two of the "mini multi-grain baguettes" and pointed in that general direction of the case. She grabbed the wrong ones, and after much awkward direction from me (not that one, no, the ones next to it), she finally landed on the bread I wanted.

"Those, ma'am, are called brioche, not baguettes" she said in a not-too-friendly tone. I may not know my bread varieties but it is still your job to smile at me and be nice.

Anyway, she printed out the ticket to identify the price and contents of my non-descript paper bag for the cashier -- in this case the "brioche". Or maybe not. On the ticket it read:

Hot Dog Bun

Brioche my ass.


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