Since quitting my job in preparation for grad school, I’ve been trying to fill some of the time in my days by writing, by looking for short term or part time freelance work, and by riding my bicycle around a lot. This means I’m going to the grocery store almost every day, just to pick things up for dinner that night since it’s a good excuse to put in five to seven miles, depending on the route I use.
Today, I picked up a couple tubes of croissant dough for something I’m going to make later this week. I pitched them in my bike’s basket with a few other things, then started the slow, quad-destroying ride back uphill to my house.
After maybe fifteen minutes, one of the tubes exploded. The pop was loud enough that I could hear it around my earbuds. I’m pleased to say that even though it really startled me, I managed to not swerve into the nearest fence. The half gallon of milk that was sharing the basket may never mentally recover, though, after being on the receiving end of a long smear of flaky, buttery dough. Or maybe it liked that. I don’t know about milk cartons these days.
I just let the ruptured tube sit, dough dangling obscenely over one side of my basket, and really put my back into getting myself home before the other tube could go up. Which it didn’t, thankfully. I just cut up the dough that was still in the tube and baked it into some really sad looking biscuits.
This whole thing just struck me as kind of strange, since I remember the Mythbusters episode where they looked at biscuits quite well. And it took those cans almost an hour in a 100+ degree car to go, not fifteen minutes in a breezy bicycle basket in barely 80 degree weather.
Who knows, maybe the croissant tube sense its proximity to Rachel Maddow on my iPod and just couldn’t contain itself any longer. So I’m guessing it’s either lesbian croissant dough, or a devoted fan of Bill O’Reilly. Considering that croissant is a French word, I’m thinking the former is far more likely than the latter.