My dad likes rye bread. Nobody else is really crazy about it, so he seldom gets it. The other day, I picked up a couple loaves while shopping with my mom.
"I bought Daddy some rye bread," I smirked to my mom.
"Kissee, Kissee," she said dourly. Sour grapes!
Then I returned home, setting the loaves on the counter to be carried as a triumphant offering later that evening. Only I forgot them.
And returned home to this.
All over my kitchen table. I shall have to find another means of ingratiating myself, as I don't think my dad (who isn't crazy about cats on the best of days) could be convinced that this was only the latest artisanal bread craze.