This morning's breakfast was in a desperate need for an upgrade. I won't point out the obvious by indicating which toast I bought and which I made, but instead tell you where my bread snobbery comes from; it's my mother. It might be genetic. Once we were out to dinner and when her food arrived she opened up her purse and produced some mamica bread. She must have known the place had crappy bread and planned ahead. I thought it a bit tacky and was slightly embarrassed. I'm 37 now and finally understand. As we get older our tolerance for crap shrinks, and that includes tolerance for crappy bread. Kids, don't judge your parents!
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