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Everything tastes better with bacon


For Father’s Day, our church treated us with a little video about a daughter in search of the perfect Father’s Day gift for her dad.  One year she gave him an M&M decorated tie, and another year he was surprised with a snow ski trip.  His first time ever.  Traction soon followed.  Then one year his daughter wanted to surprise him with a deep sea fishing trip.  Until her mother reminded her that her dad got sea sick.  And what luck, there was even a flashback of him throwing up over the side of a boat on his honeymoon.

This is when I was glad to have an aisle seat, because, well, you know what happens to me whenever vomit enters the fray.

Finally, she found the perfect gift.  A cake made of bacon.  Smothered in chocolate.  This gave me pause.  I can appreciate a cake made of bacon.  And I certainly have a deep abiding love of All Things Chocolate.  But the thought of the two melded made me a bit queasy.

The sermon went on and soon I forgot about the bacon.  And the chocolate.  Which meant that it was a pretty good sermon.

At the end of the service, a picture of Kevin Bacon was flashed on the screen.  I don’t really know what the text said, because all I could think about was bacon.  And not the one with Kevin in front of it.  It was announced from the pulpit that the dads would be given a piece of bacon smothered with Ghiradelli chocolate in the foyer in honor of Father’s Day.

My interest was piqued.  Knowing that my husband wards off sugar at all costs, I began to think about the possibilities of a slice of crisp bacon coated with chocolate.  And not just any chocolate.  Surely he would give me his piece.  It’s kind of like at Halloween and I’m keeping pace with my daughter, “GO FOR THE REESES!”  “But MOM, I’m allergic to peanut butter.”  Through smiling gritted teeth, “GO FOR THE REESES!”

We walked out of the door, and there on a tray were slices and slices of chocolate covered bacon.  My pulse quickened.  My husband, the father of my 3 children, reached out and took THE SMALLEST SLICE ON THE PLATTER.  And then he kept walking.  I caught up with him, “Give it to me.”   He kept walking.  “Just give it to me and no one will get hurt.”

I had a flashback to a moment when we were engaged and had stopped at Carl’s Junior for a quick burger to go.  We noticed long after exiting the establishment that my order had accidentally come with an order of fries.

With a little spring in my step I uttered a small “yippie!”  Knowing that I was intent on being able to fit into my wedding dress, Fiddledaddy thought he’d help me out by THROWING THE FRIES INTO THE TRASH.  To say that I was mad was a bit of an understatement.

I’m certain that if you know me at all, it should not come as a surprise to you that I AM NOT ABOVE GOING INTO THE DUMPSTER AFTER THE FRIES.

Fiddledaddy saw a side to his almost-new bride that he had not witnessed before.

I feared that the bacon could end up in the trash.  And then I’d be forced to go in after it.  And, because of the embarrassment and all (Fiddledaddy’s) we’d be church shopping and who needs that aggravation.

I stayed right on his heels, like a nipping rat dog.  Finally.  FINALLY.  He broke off a small piece for me.  He also ate a small piece, and made a face.  I KNEW IT.  WASTED.  I took a bite.  Sing with me please, “Sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you…”

I almost began crying it was so good.  I eyed the leftover 1/3 of a piece in his hand.  He declared that he was going to give it to his eldest daughter.  I began explaining to him that I GAVE BIRTH TO HIS 3 CHILDREN.

I may have frightened him a little.  He was walking awfully fast.  Trying to lose me I suppose.  After collecting all of our children we found ourselves back down in the lobby.  One of the pastors was walking around handing out chocolate covered bacon.  TO THE MOMS.  Finally.  I abandoned my family to take an entire piece.  MINE.  ALL MINE.

It was truly an amazing experience.  For everyone involved.

When Fiddledaddy learned that I was considering a post that was chocolate-covered bacon centric, he asked me, “Are you going to admit to your psychological imbalance?”

Phhhttt.  As if.

Bacon, chocolate, and me.  A match made in heaven.


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