You were the tall brunette with the near-perfect body who farted in the bread section last night. I was the tall guy next to you who asked, “was that you?” You quickly replied, “No! Wasn’t me!” and almost seemed insulted I would ask. As the stink grew, you continued to deny the flatulence, but it was evident. I tried to get rid of the stench by waving two loaves of ciabatta bread. You stormed off in an angry huff. You are beautiful, and even if you’re a liar and fart like a clydesdale, I’d love to meet up sometime.