My family jokes that my only love language is bread. But honestly, if I'm not on the pickleball court or reading a book in my bed, check the kitchen. Nine times out of ten, I'll be there eating bread, hot from the oven and slathered in butter. Maybe with a schmear of homemade jam across the top if I'm feeling super indulgent. And who even cares that I am gluten intolerant? Some love affairs are worth the pain.
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