About what happened with the dough

I'm pretty culinarily challenged.
So, with visitors in town, a family dinner was planned for Sunday night. What to have? Stromboli from a favorite quick-fix recipe met with universal approval.
The ingredients were purchased --several meats and cheeses on Thursday night, then the frozen bread loaves -- five loaves, in a big bag -- on Saturday afternoon.
While putting the groceries away, I decided to let the loaves thaw on the counter, planning to put them in the frig overnight, ready for rolling out and layering with the foodstuffs Sunday night.
All was good while the loaves were in my plain sight, until Saturday about 6 p.m. That's when the pizza came for the big Notre Dame game pizza party, and I moved the loaves to make room for the pizza.
I moved the loaves to a place out of the way, a place ... I didn't have to look at them. Oh, sweet regret! I should have just put them in the frig.
But no.
We had our pizza, and watched the unfortunate Notre Dame game, and Jayme and I went to the bookstore for a little bit, and the evening was busy, and we were beat and went to bed.
But the dough did not.
And the dough lived, and breathed, and grew through the night. The dough had too much time to think, and began to plan that it could take over my kitchen, and indeed, perhaps the very house.
At 7 a.m., I awoke, and began to plan the day ahead, reviewing the evening's menu in my head.
And remembered ... the dough.
I flew down the stairs, into the kitchen, and there it was:
The frightening, expanding dough.
It has stretched its bag to bursting ... escaped the bag closure ... spilled onto the counter, swelling beyond imagination, on its was to the floor, and the rest of the house ...
I sprang into action, kneading to contain it before it overcame my loved ones, punched it down, wrestled it into a garbage bag, and hefted it out of the house, saving my family from sure annihilation by yeast products.
I fell back in bed, exhausted from the fight, high on adrenaline, furious I'd just wasted five loaves of frozen bread, yet proud of my superhero efforts.
Jayme and Tony brought reinforcements later that morning, and the stromboli came off excellently for dinner, but believe me, I didn't take my eyes off that new dough all afternoon as it defrosted on the counter. I don't trust it.
So, what about you? Wrestled any dinner ingredients lately?