Oh, he's eyeballing my bacon. He thinks he is looking cute and I suppose to others he does. Perfect black coat, big welling eyes and a tongue that lounges to the side. Yes, you're a good boy. But you're not a good enough boy to get my bacon. That's my bacon.
My daughter comes up behind him. "Bacon!" Now she's reaching for my bacon. I step between her greedy hand and the plate of heaven. Her hand bounces off my rounding stomach, she takes a step back. I explain to her that those 3 pieces of bacon are mine. I explain that I love her. I explain that I would give her anything in the world to make her happy. But not my bacon. That's more than anything, that's everything. She doesn't move. The dog and my daughter eyeballing my bacon.
My son leaps down the stairs. "I smell bacon!" he screams in mid-air. When he lands on the floor his feet are already running toward the kitchen. He takes out the cat as he rounds the corner and only stops after he has pushed my daughter and dog out of the way. I place my hand on his head, stopping abruptly his forward progress. His feet keep churning but he makes no headway. He only weighs in at 80 pounds so he's not moving me, my girth keeps my bacon safe from the invading horde.
"No," I tell him. "That's dad's bacon."
He keeps trying and as he is distracting me, I see my daughter's hand dart out once again for the plate of goodness and cholesterol. It doesn't make it. I block her again making sure that my eyes remain on my dog. Man's best friend or not, that bacon shall remain out of his poop eating mouth and I know he will take every opportunity to fill his gullet.
I look down on my leg. My 3-year-old has appeared from nowhere. Knowing the delicious smell of bacon, god's own gift to man, he has soft stepped through the horde and has attached himself to the alpha male. He sees that pure force is not letting his brother and sister through. He notices that the cry of the pup is not enough to force me to abandon my love of bacon. So he takes a different tact. He is trying to make an alliance.
He smiles as if to say "If you give me bacon I will not scream my head off and I will actually hit the toilet when I pee."
It's a ruse. I know it. My 3-year-old has used his ninja-like skills to get close to me and the bacon, my bacon. I would walk through the fires of hell to ruin my health and grab my bacon. Scream away my son for the bacon will remain on the counter behind me and not in your belly. If that is the price that I must pay, then so be it.
My daughter asks why, why no bacon from them?
Now the debate will start. It's the next step of those who couldn't take the prize by force.
I could explain bacon economics but I can't expect ones so young to understand such a complex subject. But I'm dad so I'll give them a simpler explanation.
"Because I said so."
The tried and true dad go to. I could go deeper but the bacon is calling me, beckoning to my clogging arteries. I could say because it's 6:30 in the morning and they were supposed to be sleeping. I could explain to them that I got up early to workout and then reward myself with the last three pieces of bacon. I could explain that each child will cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars in my life time and I'm calling that loan due now, payment only accepted in the form of bacon. But I don't because it's early and I'm hungry.
"Mom says you aren't allowed to have bacon," my son tells me.
Shrewd. I like that, he will go far. Not today though, no not today.
"Mom's sleeping in. The bacon is mine. Go eat your whole wheat unbacon things that we buy. "
Victory is mine and it tastes like bacon.
I turn around the grab my prize, which is even more satisfying now that it is illicit.
The cat is sitting on my bacon, his greasy butthole is on my greasy bacon. He is eating my bacon.
The cat. I always forget about the cat. The horde has won but tomorrow is another day.