It Started With A Twist Tie

I have this simple (but slightly tedious) recipe for breadsticks that are made with hot dog buns. Sounds dreadful, I know, but they are delicious.

Easy Peasy Breadsticks

1 package of hot dog buns (day old, preferably)

2 sticks of butter or margarine

1 tsp. garlic powder

Preheat oven to 225°.

Melt butter or margarine in a pie plate or other shallow dish. Stir in garlic powder.

Cut each hot dog bun lengthwise and separate sections, giving you 4 sticks per bun. Quickly dip the cut sides in the butter, then lay on a large cookie sheet.

Bake for 1-2 hours. Breadsticks should be golden brown and dry to the touch when done. Very dry buns will only take an hour; fresh buns will take two hours. Makes 32 breadsticks.

Note: you will need two cookie sheets for this recipe. Get creative with it; I usually add dried parsley or dried Italian seasoning to the butter. They can also be sprinkled with sesame seeds or grated parmesan cheese before baking.

Not MY breadsticks, but close.
I didn't know at the time that
a picture might be useful.

So, last week, my husband volunteered me to make about 200 of these breadsticks for a work function. He bought the ingredients for me, except instead of going to the day-old bakery outlet for the buns (which is what I do when I make them and which I TOLD him to do), he bought fresh buns. Since he needed me to make them the next day, he opened all of the packages on the dining room table, leaving the bags open to dry out a little (they didn't), the twist ties scattered over the table.

I worked all day the next day making the breadsticks, and I do mean all damn day. I started at 8 a.m. and I didn't get finished until 4 p.m. My husband picked them up and took them to his function, everyone raved about them, and he brought home a few leftovers. End of story. Not really.


Although I cleaned up the kitchen after the breadstick factory closed, I never went back in the dining room and picked up all the twist ties from the hot dog bun packages from where they lay on the table. Two days later, I found Ruby playing with something on the floor, having a grand time. Upon closer examination, I saw that she had a twist tie. I looked at the dining room table, and, funny thing, there were no longer any twist ties there. Hmmm. So much for "Get off the table, Ruby!" 

Ruby had twist ties stashed all over the downstairs. She'd get bored, fish one out from under a piece of furniture, and play and play and play, often picking up a twist tie in her mouth and carrying it to another location. She was particularly fond of playing with one in and around an obstacle, such as around the legs of one of the kitchen stools or under the dining room chairs.

Transporting a twist tie in her mouth.

Playing on a kitchen stool.

Twist tie dropped in the food bowl.

Monday morning, when I walked into the kitchen, I found a twist tie in the water dish. And one on a kitchen stool. And one under the dining room table. The time would come when I would get tired of stepping on them (or fishing them out of the water bowl), and into the trash they would go. But until then, she was having such a stinking good time with them that I didn't have the heart to throw them away.

A few hours later, my daughter and I were hanging out in the kitchen, she sitting on a kitchen stool, me leaning against the sink. Ruby had been playing with a twist tie in the kitchen with us (where I had already pulled it out of the food bowl once). I hadn't even noticed she left the room until she came trotting back in the kitchen, twist tie hanging out of her mouth. She dropped it under the stool where my daughter sat and proceeded to have a rolicking good time with it, flipping it around between the legs of the stool. 

It was really floppy, that wire twist tie.

I looked closer.

"Is that...? Is that...?" I stammered.

"WHAAAAAAT?!" my daughter cried, looking panicky.

"SNAAAAAAAAKE!!!" I shrieked. My daughter screamed and drew up her legs onto the stool.

Ruby continued to roll around on the floor with her super fun toy.

"GO GET YOUR BROTHER!" I shouted. I watched Ruby and the snake in horror as my daughter leaped over both of them and ran up the stairs, returning with the bleary eyed, half-asleep College Boy.

While my daughter watched from the dining room, and I watched from the sink, where I was apparently frozen in place, my son bent over and looked at Ruby's prize.

Twist tie?

GAHHHHHH!
Not a twist tie!

"Mom, it's dead. And it's been decapitated. And it looks like it's been dead for a long time. Ruby didn't kill it just now and bring it to you."

He got a paper towel, picked it up, and threw it in the trash can, leaving the room while muttering about being woken up for nothing.

My daughter and I continued to shudder and keen.

Ruby searched for the best toy she'd EVER HAD.

So where did the snake come from? Good question, but my money is on the basement (which is just a basement, a 90 year old basement, and nice enough but not a finished room or anything).  

"Ruby, show Mommy where you found the snake," I cooed, but just like a toddler who has hidden the tv remote, she only looked at me coyly and refused to offer up any secret hiding places.

Is it an overreaction in any way that I want to move to a new house? 

No, no, it is not.