I have always said that most things in life are better with bacon. It's a topic that the family and I discussed tonight while I was cooking some bacon. It was one of those nights where nobody could agree on what dinner should be and the Beef Stroganoff that was planned didn't seem to be exciting to anyone in the family, so it became an impromptu free-for-all planned by the 7-year-old in the family. This explains why the menu tonight consisted of BLT(una)s, BLs, a plate of tamales and a big plate of something Rob ate that I didn't look at because half of it was covered in celery which makes me vomit.
As I was working on the bacon the following conversation ensued:
Me (to Rob): You want some bacon?
Rob: I'm not having tuna. Or bacon. That's just not... I don't know. That's not good.
Me: Of course it's good. Bacon is great. Bacon goes with everything. Like... even orange and bacon sorbet or bacon and raspberry lemonade. I thought guys love bacon. You know, like that commercial...
Me: In fact, I should make homemade soap out of this bacon grease. I mean, why not? It will drive men wild.
Rob: Right
Julius: Can I have some bacon? It smells so good.
Me: See?
Later I was lying in bed cuddling Julius for a few minutes before he was to drift off to slip. He snuggled against me, his head on my chest and breathed a big, cozy, happy sigh.
A few seconds later he says, "Mom, are you wearing PERFUME???" (I never wear perfume.)
"No."
He breathes in deep again and says, "Mmm, it smells like you have on perfume."
I pulled the neckline of my shirt up to my nose and took a big whiff. "It smells like fabric softener to me. And maybe bacon. Fabric softener and bacon."
He leaned in tentatively and sniffed. "OH MY GOSH MOM, IT'S BACON!" He scooted over to the middle of the bed and had a horrified look on his face that he'd been busted snuggling his bacon-scented mother and liked it. (You can bet I'm saving this story for future girlfriends.) "DAD! DAD! Come smell mom, she smells like bacon!"
And from then on the snuggling was over and I had to hear a lecture from the 2nd-grader now lying far across the bed giving me a lecture on how I should only cook bacon in old house-shirts.
"Admit it," I demanded. "You love the bacon!"
"Mom, you're so weird."
"I know it. Totally." Then I kissed him on the forehead, tucked him in, and turned out the lights. Good night!
