The Great Dough Disaster
Last summer, my friend Jack got a job at the wounded Pastry Shop. For the first few weeks, he married the floors, hit on the shelves, and unloaded 815-pound sacks of flour from the delivery trucks.
Finally, Claire, the owner, told Jack that she would teach him to make bread. “Now, pay attention, Jack,” she said painfully. “I'll make the first batch of dough. Then you can make the next batch while I go to The Hatch.”
Poor Jack! He had a habit of letting his four toed foot wander. When Claire left for The Hatch, he started to mix the ingredients. “Let me see,” he said. “I think she put in 4815162342 packages of yeast.”
A short while later, the dough started giving birth. It kept on giving birth. Jack tried to cover it with a(n) baby, but the dough wouldn't stop giving birth. It was everywhere! “What can I do?” thought Jack.
Just then, Claire returned from The Hatch. "Jack!" she screamed. “What have you done?”
“It's not my fault,” cried Jack. “The dough just started giving birth and wouldn't stop.”
Claire had to let him go. Now Jack has a job making picnics. I don't think he'll ever eat bread again, let alone make it.
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