The Case of the Disappearing Pork Bits
I arrive home from work on Tuesday night, like any normal night, around 6:30. I plan to walk the dog, put the finishing touches and alterations on Jon's costume and bake the dark chocolate and bacon cupcakes for Jason's birthday on Thursday.
After taking a stroll around the complex with Carmen and checking the mail, I begin my work in the kitchen. I carefully lay a full pound of sliced bacon out on 2 cookie sheets, put them both in the oven to broil and head back to my room to begin my meticulous work on the sorcerer's hood. The smell of applewood bacon starts to drift through my small apartment; a smell not natural to my place being that I was primarily vegetarian until recently.
After a good bit of progress on the costume, I take a break to pull the bacon out. I prepare a shallow bowl and begin pulling the sizzling strips off the pans and layering them between sheets of paper towels, ending up with 4 layers of meat-napkin-meat-napkin. I share one crispy piece with Carmen, and leave said bowl of bacon on the kitchen counter to drain and cool off.
I return to my room to clean up the sleeve hems and put stitches in the robe's sash. Around 10:45 I finish triumphantly, and hang the robe up to be delivered to it's sorcerer on Wednesday. I head to the kitchen thinking... it's cupcake time! When I realize...
The bacon is gone.
The white china bowl is still where I left it, about six inches from the edge of the counter.
The four layers of paper towels are still in the bowl.
But the entire pound of bacon is gone.
I look around the kitchen, glancing from the empty bowl to the empty cookie sheets, thinking did I do something with it and forget? Scratching my head, I turn from the counter to find this big-eyed ball of guilt and fur.
Surely, the 1-year-old dumpster mutt was not clever enough to manage this crime? Surely she would not be graceful enough to get her 30-pound self up on the 3-foot-tall counters, delicately pull the bacon from between the paper towels without knocking my bowl over, and get down without my hearing her?
I don't even have time to question, as she has darts to her crate before I am able to process these possibilities.
After taking a stroll around the complex with Carmen and checking the mail, I begin my work in the kitchen. I carefully lay a full pound of sliced bacon out on 2 cookie sheets, put them both in the oven to broil and head back to my room to begin my meticulous work on the sorcerer's hood. The smell of applewood bacon starts to drift through my small apartment; a smell not natural to my place being that I was primarily vegetarian until recently.
After a good bit of progress on the costume, I take a break to pull the bacon out. I prepare a shallow bowl and begin pulling the sizzling strips off the pans and layering them between sheets of paper towels, ending up with 4 layers of meat-napkin-meat-napkin. I share one crispy piece with Carmen, and leave said bowl of bacon on the kitchen counter to drain and cool off.
I return to my room to clean up the sleeve hems and put stitches in the robe's sash. Around 10:45 I finish triumphantly, and hang the robe up to be delivered to it's sorcerer on Wednesday. I head to the kitchen thinking... it's cupcake time! When I realize...
The bacon is gone.
The white china bowl is still where I left it, about six inches from the edge of the counter.
The four layers of paper towels are still in the bowl.
But the entire pound of bacon is gone.
I look around the kitchen, glancing from the empty bowl to the empty cookie sheets, thinking did I do something with it and forget? Scratching my head, I turn from the counter to find this big-eyed ball of guilt and fur.
Surely, the 1-year-old dumpster mutt was not clever enough to manage this crime? Surely she would not be graceful enough to get her 30-pound self up on the 3-foot-tall counters, delicately pull the bacon from between the paper towels without knocking my bowl over, and get down without my hearing her?I don't even have time to question, as she has darts to her crate before I am able to process these possibilities.
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