Assault With a Breadly-Weapon

My wife, Donna, loves to bake. She bakes cakes. She bakes cookies. She bakes pies ...She bakes all sorts of things. Most of all, she bakes all sorts of breads (we haven't bought bread from the store in years). 

Recently, she'd made a couple of baguettes from which to make garlic-bread to go with a pasta dinner she'd prepared. Normally, for just the two of us, we eat maybe half a baguette. The dogs normally get the other half chopped up in their next meal.

Normally, a batch of the baguette dough makes two loaves - one of which she bakes off, immediately, the other of which she wraps up and freezes. This time, however, she baked up both loaves. The second, unused loaf, she apparently lost track of, as I found it, a few days later, buried on one of the kitchen counters. Left to sit exposed to the air, it had hardened up quite a bit. I chose to alert her of my find by tapping her on the head with it. I don't think it would have been any more effective had it had "Louisville" branded into the side of it. She was not pleased, but I was rather amused by it.