Breadmaker

Jane's been having trouble with her breadmaker lately.

Her baking's lately come aground, ending up with stunted loaves instead of the fluffy, wheaty, and nutty loaves she's usually familiar with. "Pudgy" as she described it in her own words. (Same word I'd use if I was to describe Jared out to somebody.)

But her recipe's perfect! Passed on from generation to generation, from grandmother to daughter to grand- daughter. She's absolutely miffed.

"What could make this happen? It's supposed to be foolproof." she though. But in the spirit she's in, she decides to give it another go. She puts on her bakers hat and looks intently at the instructions on the ready mix packet. She reads it slowly this time to ensure that she's followed it to the letter.

It usually takes a couple of hours for a baking cycle to complete, so she calls it a day and leaves it for the night, deeply hoping to to be greeted by the aroma of a freshly baked loaf in the morning.

Her dreams of flying croissants and paninis were rudely interrupted as she wakes up to an odd sound coming from the kitchen. Alarmed that it might be an unwanted guest, she quickly puts her robe on at the same time grabbing the baseball bat she keeps under her bed and investigates the ruckus.

She sneaks into the kitchen and was aghast! No, the sound wasn't coming from a homeless man rummaging through her fridge, but rather, her breadmaker. Like some weird Russian torture device, the bread paddles seem to be gouging her poor dough and beating them down mercilessly out of schedule.

"No wonder they were coming up undersized." she sighed as she dragged herself to bed, knowing too well that her lunch tomorrow will be quite short of her expectations.