Prompt: Bacon sandwiches always remind me…
Hot coffee easing the sleep from my mind the morning after the night before. Meanwhile the autopilot is flipping one rasher of bacon after another. Behind me I feel her move as she cut slices of thick crusty bread then applies butter. Doorstop butties on a slow Sunday morning. A much-needed comfort before facing the destruction of Saturday night.
‘What made you think a party would be a good idea,’ she asked.
‘You didn’t think it was so bad when I suggested it.’
‘I didn’t think your idiot friends would be such…. Idiots.’
‘My idiot friends?’ I asked as I put bacon between slices of buttered bread. ‘Let’s eat outside.’
We sat on the back doorstep munching the combination of soft bread and salty crispy bacon. Each bite steeling us for the mass clean up of empty beer cans and wine bottles in the lounge and used paper plates encrusted with left over nibbles from the dining room.
Armed with cloths, spray cleaners and black bags we were ready to do battle. Six black bags filled to bursting and the house felt like home again.
©JG Farmer 2019