I Want To Be Queen

I have to tell y’all that bacon is the reason I get out of bed in the morning. Well, that and I have to pee (which was probably more information than you wanted to read). This morning I awoke and found my pillow drenched with drool, because I had been dreaming about fried pig meat. I hopped out of bed so I could run down to the Piggly Wiggly store to buy some bacon, but remembered that I can’t go to Piggly Wiggly anymore.

I know I was dreaming about bacon because I saw this “bacon wrap” on the internet last night. I want that shawl! I would look sizzling hot in that! It is sooo “me.”

Unfortunately, the crafter on Etsy who made this particular masterpiece sold out all of her bacon scarves a year ago. I need one of these shawls for next winter! I know it’s too hot to think about that right now, but I have to start soon if I’m going to get this made by winter. I wonder if I could knit it on skewers instead of needles? That’s a shawl fit for a queen, don’t y’all think?

I’m going to admit to you that I fantasize. I want to be “The Queen of Bacon.” It’s sad, I know, but true. You see, I grew up in the South, where Mommas teach their daughters at an early age that we must have certain aspirations:

1. We must become beauty queens.
2. We must marry well.
3. The only profession we must pursue is that of becoming kindergarten teachers.

I managed Number Two, but it took two tries to do it.

Unfortunately, becoming a kindergarten teacher was out of the question. Don’t get me wrong, I admire kindergarten teachers and think they should become saints without having to die and be beatified and canonized. I mean, just the fact that they can deal with twenty rug rats with incessant questions, snotty noses, and the attention spans of gnats should qualify as a miracle. Right? At one miracle per kid, any kindergarten teacher has already performed more than the two miracles required.

I, however, am not saintly material.

I’m not beauty queen material either, because of that doggone swimsuit competition. When God said “breast,” I thought he said, “rest” and I sat down and didn’t get mine. The swimsuit competition would definitely be a problem — unless there is a competition for a “Cellulite Queen.” I bet I could give the other gals a run for their money on that! Or, maybe “Varicose Vein Queen.” I’m blessed in that department, too.

I thought about being a Sweet Potato Queen, because there don’t seem to be any requirements for that other than being absolutely silly. I have that requirement covered — however, my Sweet Spousal Unit doesn’t like sweet potatoes.

Actually, that’s putting it mildly. Mr. Tucker detests sweet potatoes. He despises them. He gags when he watches me eat them, which I don’t do very often. I can’t enjoy my sweet potato while he threatens to hurl right there at the table! How unappetizing is that? And, someone explain to me how a man who has Southern roots can not like a sweet potato? I guess growing up in California took the starch out of him.

I’ve decided that The Queen of Bacon is what I want to be, and I’m not going to bother with any ridiculous competitions. I’d hate to ruin the self esteem of all those other women vying for the title. They just don’t have a chance against me! I’m just going to proclaim myself Queen, and call it good. It’s a coup. I’m just going to be a legend in my own mind.

I’ll need a crown, of course. I saw one on The Anti Craft. Click the picture if you want the recipe instructions on how to make it for me.

Actually, don’t waste the bacon — just send me a sparkly diamond crown and that shawl! That’s the most I would ask of my loyal subjects. In return, I promise:

I will call for an end to the swine flu epidemic.

There will be peace throughout the land, as we all come to the table and eat bacon. OK, I’m going to have to figure out something for folks whose religions don’t allow them to eat pork. I know! I’ll give them those fake bacon bits that have been in my pantry for six years. They won’t know the difference.

I also promise Universal Health care — we will need it to pay for the medical problems due to our high cholesterol. We are going to be eating a lot of bacon.

Because, in fact, I will end world hunger! There will be a pig in every pot. No wait!

There will be bacon brownies for every household! “Let them eat cake!” This seems like a perfect marriage! Bacon and chocolate. Wait a minute … if bacon and chocolate can “marry,” why can’t …never mind…

I’m going back to my fantasy now. Actually, I’m not. I’m going to the store, because I saw the perfect salad. Y’all come on over and join The Queen of Bacon for lunch, y’hear?

Related posts:

1. Vertigo Hats Gave Me Balance
2. I’m So Glad Spoons Cafe In McKinney Is In My Neck Of The Woods!
3. Sweetie Pie’s Ribeyes In Decatur Has The World’s Best Baked ‘Tater
4. Disjointed Photo Album
5. Potato Chowder. Good Comfort Food.

Tagged as: bacon, humor, Silly Is My Middle Name