The Quest for Phyllo Dough.

Phyllo dough, why must you elude us?

'Twas a lukewarm, misty night. The scent of urgency pulsated through the air, with impending baklava dying to jump out of the pantry and into our mouths. But alas, the phyllo dough in our freezer was but half a package. Such initiated our quest.

We two young travelers first arrived at Albertson's, a local market. Our search yielded nothing. At long last we were able to locate a service wench, who informed us our quest was for naught; not only had she never heard of such a thing, nor had five or ten others. "Phyllo? Like Fila shoes?" You poor peasants - you have yet to live.

To Chez Target we sped, but were first afflicted by the twang of desire for a massive bacon cheeseburger, hence we segued to Fuddrucker's, a local cow factory. 1/3 pound of medium-cooked ground beef was soon speeding through our intestines, along with fried potatoes drenched in buckets of honey mustard and ranch. After emitting hearty sighs of relief, we felt rejuvenated in our search for the bastardly phyllo dough. We shall conquer you! (we shook our fists at this point)

Soon the red circle of destiny was within our sights - our heartbeats increased as we could almost taste the sweet phyllo. Our time had come - or so we thought. Again phyllo looked upon us from the sky with his cold gaze and declared, "you shall never defeat me!" We peered upward into the now ever-increasing downpour and reaffirmed our dedication to our mission - "give me phyllo or give me death!" The time had come to call our old, dear friend, Mr. Tom Thumb.

And so it was, on the 23rd of February, in the year of our 27th birthdays, we found the dough that is phyllo at Tom Thumb. Fighting back tears of joy, we clutched our package with Herculean force and drove our mighty steed rapidly away before they realized the sacred nature of the good which they had just sold. For it is now ours.

I now find myself perched at my terminal to regale you with our tale of triumph, only to be interrupted by my companion's proclamation of profanity coming from the other room. Apparently we have forgotten the mix that yields cake. Such are the consequences of shopping without the list of groceries. No matter - the mix shall be ours!