I love bacon. I only have it once in a while thanks to these stupid migraines, but I love knowing that bacon is in the world. Crisp. Fragrant. Lovely. Bacon.
So, rather than focusing on the lack of bacon in my life, I’ve turned to other things that I love in this world. I love butterflies. (Not fer eatin’ though.) I’ve been looking for some butterfly prints to hang somewhere in my house, but every print I’ve run across wasn’t quite right. So the search continued.
The Hubs and I try to have a weekly breakfast date followed by a run through our two favorite consignment shops. Typically we go to a tiny local diner where you have to wait outside in a long line to get a table. You wait because you know it is going to be good when that many people are willing to stand in the cold that long for breakfast. It is that good. The Hubs had bacon. Sadly, I did not. (The bite I had of his bacon, while extraordinarily delicious, crisp, fragrant, heavenly, doesn’t count. I only count a whole slice. Anything less is just a taunt.)
After breakfast I followed my bacon-scented man into consignment shop #1. (Ever notice how one can eat bacon in a bacon filled diner and the essence follows him all day? It’s maddening!)
In the back of the shop, I found the perfect butterfly prints. Four of them. Framed. Beautiful and better’n bacon.
It doesn’t have to be bacon to be beautiful.