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Makin' Bacon

I am currently in the kitchen right now, pan frying bacon.

And I'm going to confess something I haven't really admitted to myself until just now: I hate making bacon.  It sprays all over the place and it is reaaaaallllllyy tedious work.  I've been at it for 10 minutes now and I am not even through a quarter of a pound.

"But Lori!" you say.  "Lori!  Use the oven!"

EVEN WORSE.  That skin melting spatter that is on my stovetop is then transferred to a small, blazing hot space where the spatter gets cooked into smoke that my smoke detectors tell me is not good.  I mean, I love me some bacon smell but I do not care for burned bacon odor. 

Even better: I'm cooking two pounds of bacon!  Because of my stupid Whole30 that I did to myself so thank you so much, Lori, for that brilliant idea, I can't eat the normal bacon because SUGAR.  So I'm doing a pound of my special rainbow starlight bacon and a pound of porky normal bacon.

And I am not behaving like a little sugar deprived child because of my life choices.  I just don't like making bacon.  Period.

I'm sure this is just like what a runner goes through, one of the normal runners who hate running?  The ones who do it to stay in shape but begrudgingly puts on her runners and cold weather gear and sets off in the bitter cold but is hating every step until that moment when the endorphins kick in (or the run is done, thank goodness) and then life is wonderful.  You feel great!  Alive!  Exhausted, but in a good way!

That is how I hope to feel about my experience cooking bacon today.

Great!  Alive!  Exhausted but in a good way!  But in my case? 

Belly full of bacon.  I think I win in this situation. 


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