The simple method is not always the simplest. One lesson I learned is that I decided to cook a special meal for my husband Doug every month. I scanned the menu and chose a dish that included homemade bread. Knowing that bread can bite, I opened my mouth and put down my work. Doug, I have no such cooking experience. I think one can play well and two will be better, so I doubled everything. Love is Doug orange. I also opened a can of oranges and poured them into the bowl. Soon there was a sticky dough (dough) covered with an ugly yellow sign. Realizing that I had failed, I threw the dough into the trash can outside so that I didn't have to face Doug and laugh at my work. If I continue to prepare dinner, I will have a rest. When Dou comes home, we will sit down and eat Cornwall chicken rice. He wants to enjoy his food, but he seems to feel uneasy. He stood up twice and went outside, saying that he thought he heard a voice. The third time, I went to the window and saw what he was doing. Looking out, I saw Doug standing 3 feet away from the trash can, lifting the lid with a stick and looking into the bucket. When I came to his house, he put a stick and explained that one lived in our dustbin. Picking up the stick again, he picked up the lid. Enough, I get it. I feel cold. But as I get closer, it seems more and more difficult. There is no doubt that this is my job. The hot sun makes it very consistent, because the size of the dough and yeast makes the surface tremble, as if it were sighing and breathing. It looks as if something unknown came from outer space. I can understand why Doudou began to waver. I have to admit that there are "living things". I don't know who is more embarrassed (embarrassed), the whole thing.