Captain Mom's Log: Week 5: Day 34

I found bacon on my last excursion for provisions. This was my second chance. This time I wouldn't let my mind wander. I wouldn't burn it like last time. The crime almost got me booted out of the encampment. I separated the slabs of meat while Chief Mate sang at the top of his lungs from the top of the stairs, "Bacon Bacon Bacon Bacon!!!" His toothbrush still in his mouth so the "n" didn't quite make it out of his mouth. The bacon felt strange. Every pack is slightly different. Consistency, smell, greasy residue. I squeezed five pieces across the skillet. I always put as many as the pan can handle because I despise cooking bacon. The less amount of time I have to spend stretching apart the slimy flesh, the better. These monstrosities actually grew wider and I barely could fit the last piece. It overlapped every single strip as I shoved it in horizontally across the top. Bacon is supposed to shrink, not grow. The smell filled the house and the "Bacon Bacon Bacon Bacon!!!" song grew louder. I could not fail him this time.
I placed the crispy pieces onto the brown made-from-recycled-paper towel. It did little against the grease. Thwp. I pulled the last of the pieces apart and arranged them (quite nicely, if I do say so myself) on the pan. Spat! An angry grease bubble popped and singed my hand. I covered the menacing simmer with the grease screen. Simmer, flip, flop onto the brown -- no -- now see-through paper towels. These would definitely light a fire with ease. The strips looked perfect. Smelled amazing.
"Did you burn it?" Chief Mate asked as he sat to eat.
"You know, I do some things right."
"Huh?"
"Just eat."

END TRANSMISSION

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