The other day I found myself in a ‘down and out’ kind of mood and just did not know what to do with myself — so I did nothing and laid around the house most of the day feeling sorry for myself.
On several occasions my girlfriend had tried to cheer me up by comforting me and all that good stuff, but for some reason I just couldn’t snap out of the funky rut in which my mind had gotten itself stuck.
Then, as a final and desperate attempt to bring me back from the Land of Despair, she slipped into… the kitchen and began cooking a few lonely strips of bacon.
Within seconds of smelling that wonderful smoky scent in the air I immediately perked up and asked, “Uh, dear? I think I smell some market bacon cooking. No complaints here, but what possessed you to cook bacon at this hour of the afternoon? That’s not like you.”
“I did it… for you,” she replied.
Damn… my heart melted like bacon grease on a hot stove.
note: This article has zero medical worth despite the fact that bacon kicks ass and takes names!
