Inspired by Arkhamrefugee...
Jan. 11th, 2006 10:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kukla_tkoHere's a random story.
Something you all ought to know about my father is that he eats Bacon with every meal of the day, if possible.
This is a man who can eat bacon for breakfast, cook his lunch in the leftover grease, then wrap a pork loin in bacon for dinner... and be in such fine physical shape that less than six months after major surgery he was pole-vaulting.
Some of you have met him. You know that he's in fine physical shape, so he's not some greasy fat bastard gobbling his way to an early death. He just plain likes bacon, and it apparently likes him. Lucky bastard.
I told you that story to tell you this one.
When my father moved in with the woman who is now his wife, she started cooking him breakfast. Her daughter was then in high school. Every morning, she'd wake up and go to the bathroom to wash her hair. She would then run quickly back to her bedroom and close the door. Mind you, usually she's about as spry in the morning as I am (See Kukla Slug around in bed... Slug, Kukla, Slug!) so her mom was wondering what inspired the scurrying.
My stepsister told her that she didn't like to walk through the house when there was bacon cooking because her hair would smell like bacon grease for the rest of the day.
Then one morning, my stepmom fixed my father some maple-flavored bacon.
That night my stepsister told her, "You can cook that kind of bacon any time. Everyone loved how my hair smelled today."
Because her hair smelled like maple. Like pancake syrup.
Pancakes. You can't make that sh*t up!
Something you all ought to know about my father is that he eats Bacon with every meal of the day, if possible.
This is a man who can eat bacon for breakfast, cook his lunch in the leftover grease, then wrap a pork loin in bacon for dinner... and be in such fine physical shape that less than six months after major surgery he was pole-vaulting.
Some of you have met him. You know that he's in fine physical shape, so he's not some greasy fat bastard gobbling his way to an early death. He just plain likes bacon, and it apparently likes him. Lucky bastard.
I told you that story to tell you this one.
When my father moved in with the woman who is now his wife, she started cooking him breakfast. Her daughter was then in high school. Every morning, she'd wake up and go to the bathroom to wash her hair. She would then run quickly back to her bedroom and close the door. Mind you, usually she's about as spry in the morning as I am (See Kukla Slug around in bed... Slug, Kukla, Slug!) so her mom was wondering what inspired the scurrying.
My stepsister told her that she didn't like to walk through the house when there was bacon cooking because her hair would smell like bacon grease for the rest of the day.
Then one morning, my stepmom fixed my father some maple-flavored bacon.
That night my stepsister told her, "You can cook that kind of bacon any time. Everyone loved how my hair smelled today."
Because her hair smelled like maple. Like pancake syrup.
Pancakes. You can't make that sh*t up!
