Bacon grease. Damn it. The bacon is cooked, an already evil deadly delight. Now, pan of grease is hot and danger slick. Needs to go… Where? The coffee cans mother used to fill and collect on a shelf are not now how this kitchen lives. And barely eating bacon at doctor directive of impending death from clogged arterial tracts. He proposes a plant-based diet avoiding including anything processed in a plant. This is bacon sneaked in when he’s not looking. But now, there is no grease keep. Looking, seeking. Slamming cupboards sliding drawers. Empty vessels do not abound. Want to toss this slick without gruesome greasy mess. Empty vessels often are in the trash. Not this morning. But wait. Wait, yes, maybe, will it…the empty eggshell repurposed. Like baby bear bed, just right for holding the dose of deadly golden goodness poured from the pan. The shell now sits, waiting for the waste bin. Hot grease going cold. Will it ever gel or will it stay liquid? What have I done. Just a different problem to solve. Bacon grease. Damn it. My life is a hell.
This is hard for me. My life is a hell. Be afraid. Or you will join me. TFTD: WTH?