It was a bright and beautiful Sunday morning, and upon waking up I immediately knew what needed to be done with my day. I knew I needed (kneaded? Ha!) to make bread. Not just any bread. Cinnamon bread. And so it was done. I vaguely followed a recipe that was stored in my arsenal from… somewhere. If only I knew.

I made the dough. It was beautiful, the texture was perfect, it smelled amazing. Everything was going well. I oiled a bowl, and even came up with a ground breaking (yes, ground breaking!) system to keep it warm while rising. You see, I put the bowl containing the dough in a slightly bigger bowl filled with warm water. Brilliant, I say!
I put it aside. I did some homework. I picked up boyfriend so we could play some video games. After the suggested two hours, I check the bread.