How to tell when you're the weird neighbor

"...if it wasn't for the crumbs, I mean, it would be totally better, it's just I have this thing about crumbs, and plus who can eat a whole loaf of bread in like, three days before it gets all stale?"

I had heard this whole line of reasoning, oh, I don't know, SEVENTY OR EIGHTY TIMES before, but I nodded and gave my standard line about the health benefits of using whole wheat and spelt and the total absence of the weird shit they put in there as preservatives these days, blah blah blah. I don't know why I'm so stuck on getting my neighbors warmed up to the bread I bake for them, it just strikes me as kind of odd that they both are left completely cold by the thought of getting something for free, when people will usually risk their lives, or those of their kids and pets at least, just for a chance at a t-shirt being thrown into the crowd at a ballgame or a free doughnut at a Holiday Inn continental breakfast that fifteen people have probably had their hands on already that morning.

Chuck appeared behind her at the door, glancing over her shoulder at me with my paper towel-swaddled potential present. "Hey, Steve, more bread? Is it quadrotriticale this time?" He snorted at that, like he always does, and headed back up their entry hallway. She finally took it out of my hands with a quick smile and a mostly sincere "thank you", but as she turned and swung the door shut I clearly heard, "What the fuck is with..." from the other room before the latch clicked and I turned to walk back home.

Fine. Let 'em go back to their Wonder Bread and mayonnaise sandwiches, to bread that you can leave in the pantry next to the Twinkies and never have to check the expiration date on either of them. Maybe when Chuck's blood pressure gets to that point where his doctor is "a little concerned", he'll come running over for a few pointers on wheat bran and steel-cut oats. But I doubt it.





P.S. Fuck hiatuses.