Cult of Bread Almighty.
Slices of bread lying under the kitchen table: “…”
Sam, picking them up mournfully: “They don’t look too dirty, can’t we still eat them?”
Me: “They’ve been on the floor since you made your lunch LAST NIGHT. That’s just a *bit* too far past the two-second rule.”
Sam: “We could wash them.”
Me: “If you wash dirty bread, you don’t get clean bread, you get soggy dirt on soggy bread.”
Sam: “Can we put them on the altar?”
Me: “You offer the best of what you have on the altar, not bread that’s been on the floor all night.”
Sam: “They could have their own altar.”
Slices of bread: “Bow down, insignificant humans!”