“I was at the grocery store tonight. I’d had chicken fingers for dinner, but that didn’t quite do the trick: felt kinda snackish, figured some cold cuts would about hit the spot. Looked at my options, wasn’t feelin’ the salami or the prosciutto, so I grabbed something that looked kinda bacon-y.
Driving home, opened up my treat. Looked rather oilier than I had anticipated. Didn’t want to try and eat it with my fingers, but didn’t have anything really handy. So I tore a corner off of my chicken fingers box and used it for a kind of makeshift spoon.
Got home, snack finished. Looked again at the packaging. “Diced Pancetta.” Despite sitting – literally – between the salami and the prosciutto, it is not pre-cooked.
Turns out, my proudest moment is *not* the night I ate an entire package of diced raw bacon with a goddamn cardboard shovel. Somehow, the fact that it wasn’t just bacon, but fancy imported Italian bacon, isn’t helping. On the other hand, the cardboard shovel’s previous life as a fast food wrapper *does* make it a little worse.
All of this is a long way of saying that I can now be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.”