This morning at breakfast as I was eating the fifth of six cinnamon buns that Margaret bought for me last week (they are best after a few days as the glaze begins to crystallize), I kept getting a whiff of something "funky". At first I thought it might be the coffee cream, but that seemed fine. Next I thought it might be the cereal milk, and then the butter, but no on both accounts. Suddenly it dawned on me as I began reaching the moister inner layers of the cinnamon bun that it had begun to ferment. Ugh.