Thirty-one years ago I had my last cigarette.
But give up bacon – especially extra crispy?
Give up hot dogs?
WHO, what are you doing to me?
Family history has it that even before I could talk or eat most table food, if my parents were eating bacon, I’d reach out my hands for a share. In college I had a BLT or grilled Swiss and bacon on rye almost every week day. I don’t buy bacon for home anymore, but when I am subbing, I’ll ask for a BLT with crispy bacon, and at breakfast with friends even the waitress knows I’ll order crispy bacon. That’s why I got such a good laugh the other day when FB showed a pig named Chris P. Bacon.
And hot dogs: as a kid and teen when I went to Boston, I’d head to Neisner’s for a hot dog (15 cents) and a root beer. (5 cents) How I’ve loved Bubba’s hot dogs at the beach in Sea Isle City or the ones from the hotdog cart on Main Street in Hanover.
Some years ago a friend and her husband would stop at our house and stay a day or two on route to somewhere else. He was a brilliant guy with a Ph.D. from MIT, I think in chemistry. He was horrified that I had a microwave and refused to eat anything cooked in it or in a Teflon-clad pan. But fast forward a few years , and before he was fifty, he was struck and killed by a bus while crossing the street. Someone in our family commented- not entirely unkindly – “I guess he should have been watching out for the bus instead of thinking about microwaves and Teflon.” So if I get overly concerned about health-endangering edicts, someone says, “Remember: look out for the bus!”
Dorothy C. Judd 2015
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