In the Bread Line

 

I would rather look at bread and smell it and buy it at the bakery and carry it home than actually eat it.  One summer I was in Italy with a group of students.  We were living in an old farmhouse outside of a small village.  Every day we would walk into the village and buy beautiful loaves of Tuscan bread from the sweet bread man.  One day I opened a cabinet door in the kitchen and about eight loaves tumbled out.  It turned out that the unsalted Tuscan bread was stale by the second day and no one was eating very much of it.  But we so loved to buy the bread that we kept buying it whether we needed it or not.