THE DANGER INHERENT IN SALAD

Only now do I realize that I have keenly honed Pavlovian reactions. On Facebook, Mister Pease mentioned an unfavourable review of one of his smoking mixtures by Pinko, and I automatically reached over to sniff deeply of an open tin of Abingdon. The label clarifies that it is a "full Balkan style blend with a generous measure of Cyprian Latakia, seasoned with fine red and yellow Virginia tobaccos, and enhanced with rich oriental leaf".
It smells assertive and sexy. And bold and stylish.
If a woman smelled like this, I'd melt.
Oh honey. Mmmmm.

Then I saw what Ms. Walters had written on a different page.


"I've had 3 salads this week dammit I should be as skinny as a toothpick by now!"


Without a moment's pause I headed into the kitchen to see if there was any bacon in the fridge. Honest truth, the mere mention of salad made me immediately desire bacon. Because there is NO other point to salad.
It's a lovely support for three rashers of hot bacon.
Crispy and just dripping savoury goodness.
And some of the pan grease.

Heck, you could use ALL of the pan grease if you put the green stuff and the bacon between two slices of sourdough. Just add a sploodge of Sriracha hotsauce, some mayo, and it's healthy, high in fibre.


There is no bacon! We are undone!


But there are FOUR tubs of icecream in the freezer. Four. My apartment mate had a menstrual episode recently, which explains that. From bitter experience I know that too much icecream -- especially on an empty stomach -- does funky things to the digestive system.
I should have something else to eat first.

I think I'll have a burrito at the Mexican place around the corner. Carnitas, guack, and extra queso. Plus gobs of the roasted hot chili salsa.

I shall not go to work tomorrow.
The apartment will be empty.
I can take the risk.


If anything happens, I'll blame Ms. Walters. I got a bacon vibe all the way from North Carolina. I'm in California. Powerful. It's her fault.


The first pipe of the day will be Abingdon (dating from 2013). Then a big bowlful of John Cotton's No. 1 from a cutter tin after that.
Lunch, and a Virginia Perique to go with my tea.
Maybe there will be bacon by then.

Salad. It's evil.




UPDATE AS OF 10:30 PM

It was delicious! Now I am biding my time patiently, till my apartment mate goes to sleep, and I may raid the icecream without hindrance. There's chocolate chip, dark chocolate, strawberry, and sea salt caramel.

Don't want to shock her. Or cause her to think that I am gluttonous and lack self-control. I am a man of restraint, got tonnes of self-control.

Just going to wait until she's asleep.


UPDATE AS OF 11:13 PM

She's switched channels, darn it. September is Diamonique® month! And she's giggling over really tacky jewelry. I think I'll have a cigarillo outside.


UPDATE AS OF 11:48 PM

Aaaargh! Now she's watching reality blondes and making evil comments!


UPDATE AS OF 11:56 PM

Channel surfing.


UPDATE AS OF 12:26 AM

Icecream is within reach!


UPDATE AS OF 12:33 AM

Some icecream fell in my shoe.




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