"You smell like bacon and eggs!"
Said by a kindergarten boy to a girl in his class. It broke her heart. Of all the mean things to say! She cried and cried all through recess. She was still crying when she returned to class. Her teacher told her to stop crying, but her little feelings were hurt beyond repair. She could not turn off her tears, because they were from the depths of her soul.
Her teacher put a worm in her apple. In other words, the kindergarten's way of giving a demerit at her Christian school. It made her cry all the harder, because it was the only demerit she had (or would) receive all year.
And then there was the time in second or third grade when her mom burned the breakfast bacon right before she had to go to school. There was no time to change uniforms. She was sprayed with Glade (that was before Febreeze) and driven to school, where the permeating scent of burned bacon followed her all day long. No, no one said anything that time. But no one needed to say anything. That little kindergarten boy's voice was echoing through her head all day long... "You smell like bacon and eggs."
Could that be why I don't like frying bacon in my home? Because that little girl was me? I only know that I don't really like the way the smell of fried bacon seeps into everything. Clothes, my hair - eewww don't like bacon hair! And then there's dealing with the rendered fat. Gross!
I usually cook bacon in the microwave, but Pasta Carbonara with Leeks and Lemon called for fried bacon. I turned the vent on high, squeezed my eyes tight, and threw that bacon in the pan. The boys declared that fried is much better than microwaved. Oh, it was delicious all right. But the hair...
it smelled like bacon.
