When I Go
Thinking about life recently also made me naturally give some thought to death. More specifically, how I would like to go.
After much deep consideration and plenty of soul-searching, I have my answer: I would prefer to go in my sleep. Or by bacon inhalation.
“In my sleep,” sure, would probably be the “number one answer on the board” (if the world took a Family Feud-like survey). The whole “going painlessly” thing is quite agreeable. But, to go out smelling arguably the world’s best meat, I mean, there’s no better way I can imagine.
Nothing against beef, steak, chicken, turkey or even pork and ham, but for me: bacon brings home the bacon. You can literally wrap ANYTHING in bacon and it makes that anything better; including yourself.
Is it healthy or good for you? No. But those strips of meaty heaven are so tasty you can’t help but want all of them. All of the time.
My love for bacon dates back to my childhood. I recall for years saying those three words everyone wants to hear: “bacon double cheeseburger.” My mom must have known about my love for the sweet swords of swine because there was always Sizzlean (bacon’s not-at-all “healthier” cousin) around.
That’s how good bacon is; even its healthier alternative is still pretty tasty.
Early on in wife’s pregnancy, she discovered her sense of smell had heightened to that of a bloodhound. Unfortunately, the smell of meat made her stomach turn — don’t even ask what “street meat” did to her. We, of course, had a pack of bacon (purchased pre- nasal upgrade) in our fridge that was just sitting there, tempting me.
Until! → she had to travel for work one weekend. While she was away, I decided it was my mission: I must rid the house of all that bacon… by eating it, of course. I was not raised to be wasteful. I went out and bought a hearty loaf of freshly-baked bread, cooked up the suckers (oh how the house wafted with a wonderful aroma), sat down with a literal bowl of bacon and had at it.
The night and day to follow, I made sure to open the windows and circulate the air flow so that the scent would be long gone by the time she returned. I felt such a sense of accomplishment — I even messaged her to let her know I was taking care of business for her. And all was well.
Until! → came warmer weather and the need to turn on the air conditioner that was in our kitchen window. You guessed it: she hit the switch and lingering whiffs of the fatty food forced its way out upon her. She survived and, thankfully, we are a bacon-friendly family once again. Whew.
So, if I can’t shuffle off this mortal coil while visions of bacon-wrapped sugarplums danced in my head (asleep, that is, perchance dreaming), the only other viable option for me is to be overcome by the scent of cuts of well-cooked pork belly.
Unless! → I could somehow literally have my cake and (literally and figuratively) eat it. Nothing against bacon, but for me: cake takes the cake.
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