Another Nine Minutes ... Gone

The *LOC loves to cook breakfast.  And I don't just mean a nice little pan of oatmeal.  He likes to whip up pancakes topped with heated syrup and good butter.

He loves to make omelets with chopped green peppers and onions, filled with mixed shredded cheese.  These he serves with whole wheat toast and raspberry jam. Ooooh, boy.

And he LOVES to fry bacon - lots of it.  His bacon turns out just right - dry, crispy and not too dark, not too light.  And flat!

One kitchen tool he prizes more than nearly any other is his bacon press.  For those who have never seen, much less used, one - it resembles an iron.  (See photo above.)  You set it on top of the bacon as it fries, and the weight prevents the bacon from shriveling up.  He also drains it and dries it on a paper towel.  Voila!

When the LOC places a slice of bacon on a plate, it is crispy, golden brown and flat, non-greasy and delicious.  In other words, perfect. Oh, dear - that is the problem. 
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The other day I read an article that said medical research indicates that for every piece of bacon a person eats, his or her life is shortened by nine minutes. What?

Oh, phooey.  As we get older there are so many things that are not quite as enjoyable as they once were.  I don't mean to be a Debbie-downer here, but it is true.  A nice walk used to simply mean wonderful things to see as I went along, and a good sense of fatigue when I got back home.

Now a brisk walk, in addition to those two things, also involves:
- being sure I have first visited the bathroom before I head out,
- making sure I am wearing a pair of shoes that gives me the best surface grip to avoid falling,
- that I am wearing both sunblock cream and a hat to protect my face from the sun, and
- being willing to hurt for the first three blocks until I hit my stride (which admittedly is nothing to brag about.)

In other words, simple pleasures are not so simple anymore.  So for crying out loud, couldn't they have left having a nice slice of bacon alone?

Apparently not.

So I did the math.

The LOC cooks breakfast an average of twice a week.  But we generally only have bacon during one of those meals.  However, he always serves me three perfectly cooked slices.

There goes 27 minutes I'll never get back.
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Calculating a half an hour lost per week, equates to approximately one day each year.  If the LOC and I persist in this ritual for thirty years, I may lose a month at the end of the gastronomical trail.

Well, life is a series of trade-offs as we all know from personal experience.  A month is nothing to sneeze at.  But neither is the prospect of thirty years without bacon!  Yeesh.
                                      
Guess we each have to make our own choice.  For me, for now at least, .... honey, pass the bacon.
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Hope you are using your time well and wisely.  Failing that, hope you are at least enjoying a good slice of bacon!  Until next time ... Marsha
(*Lovable Old Coot)