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The conversation continues on, much to my chagrin, as I gingerly exchange pleasantries with the person he just introduced. I have to politely laugh and downplay my hatred of squirrels, while David is beside himself by the awkward proceedings.
So it was last week I was reading off the list of things I hate to a friend. She shook her head and felt I had made it up just to get a rise out of folks. It was then, in a brief moment of insanity, I made a confession.
Of all the things on the list, there is actually one that I really have grown to secretly love. With this knowledge, I was told I would have to tell people, and I knew she was right.
While staying in Kerrville with my friends Marty and Charles a few months ago, we would wake up and cook as full a breakfast as we had time for before starting to paint on the mural. Marty and Charles cooked up bacon each morning, while I wolfed down a couple bowls of cereal. I was the last one to leave the house one morning when I grabbed some waters from the fridge. On the stove was a plate of bacon sitting on a greasy paper towel. I was still a little hungry, and
grabbed a couple of slices and ate them fast. They were delicious. Crunchy, greasy and good, I sipped some water and made sure I was done chewing before heading out to work.
I haven't had any bacon since, and still don't really think I'd go hog wild eating it on everything like most Americans, but those tasty strips that I had may have started me on a dangerous path. So I must rescind all those horrible things I said about bacon and will go forth with a clear conscience and some exciting new tasty combinations in the morning.
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