The Fredösphere

Last night:  another sourdough triumph.  I chose a rye/cornmeal/wheat combination in a shape that was longer than an oval, but shorter than a baguette.  The dough's consistency worked with the properly angled slash to produce a beautiful stretched and torn wound across the top of the finished loaf.  I think I must have spent ten minutes gazing upon the finished work.

Oh, but then petty, ugly jealousy rose up to spoil my view.  "I think you love that bread more than me," quoth the wifeösphere.  Why must we have this exclusivity?  Love is not a zero sum game.  I can love this bread with all my heart even while I keep loving my wife as I always have.