When Even Bacon Won't Make It All Better

You know it's all comin' down around you when stealing your son's bacon off his plate before school didn't make you feel any better. Yikes.

I love bacon. Who doesn't? Even my 7-year-old announcing, "You know where bacon comes from? A pig's butt," doesn't deter me. I love pigs. I live with three of them.

And when they make it vacuum-packed, already cooked so all you have to do is put it in the microwave oven and you still get nice, crispy bacon?  And you can get this amazing delicacy in HUGE PACKAGES AT SAM'S CLUB? WITH 72 MOUTH-WATERING SLICES? Oh sweet mother of all inventions.

It's like feeling guilty about an illicit affair. I guess? (And is there really any other kind of affair?)

You see - the grease, the mess, the clean up. That is a deterrent. That is what keeps me from bacon. The fat? The calories? Not enough. I would shave a few years off my life and accept a few inches around the middle for bacon. I would die for bacon.

But when even the closest-thing-to-heaven-on-earth taste of bacon doesn't make it all better - it's bad.

When it's Monday morning, and I'm not jumping for joy at having my alone time back when the younger boys are off to school - it's bad.

When it's a chilly morning for the first time in months and all the windows are open and fresh air is flowing through the house and I'm not giddy with the prospect of fall colors, smells, and wearing sweatshirts - it's bad.

What's so bad, you say?

I have green snot.
My throat hurts.
My head hurts.
I can't breathe.
I can't think.
Cough drops make bacon taste funny.
Bacon makes cough drops taste funny.

I.
Have.
My.
First.
Cold.
Of.
The.
Season.

So I thought I'd make a big deal about it. People are dying. Kids are suffering. Animals need homes. They will never win the Whale Wars. But, hey - at least I'm writing.

Right, Brian?

Back in the saddle.

Now coffee. That will surely make it all better. Time to fire up the Keurig.

Monday, I'm back.