Last night we had friends over for a Mardi Gras pancake dinner. Usually we serve sausage on the side because bacon is too messy and time-consuming for a mess of people. But a neighbor brought a package of maple-cured bacon and fried it up, filling the whole house with the most wonderful smoky smell.
Which was pleasant last night. But I curse her on this day of fast and abstinence when the very walls are crying out, "bacon."
I think it was deliberate. Sneaky Baptist.
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