Agoraphobia

Day 805 (Third Bacon Day)

Before the peak, Uncle Peter was the head chef in his house. He only made his family good, nutritious, heart-healthy food. But his wife missed bacon. So they started their our own private holiday. Every August 13th was "Bacon Day", the one day a year they would serve bacon.

After the peak, Bacon Day became a "real" Main House holiday. It was a wholly unhealthy tradition, but one everyone at Elwood's seemed to like. On Bacon Day, the kids would make pig-themed decorations, and Sarah organized fun games for everyone to play. And, of course, obscene amounts of bacon were fried, served, and consumed.

On our third Bacon Day, Uncle peter and I came in after a hard day's work just as dinner was being served. We washed up and sat down at the table. Nichole gave us plates of artery-hardening deliciousness. Eggs and apple chips fried in bacon grease, mashed potatoes with bacon bits, and a thick BLT.

Uncle Peter was about to start eating when Grandma Maud "ordered" Uncle Peter out of HER seat. Unbeknownst to him, his mother had become fond of that particular chair. Evidently, its extra width gave her ample keister ample room. Uncle Peter graciously acquiesced, but immediately regretted it; the only other seat available was next to Jeannie. Uncle Peter sat down and started eating. The table was quiet as everyone was busy enjoying their delicious, but life-shortening, dinner.

"Peter!" sang out Jeannie, slicing through the quiet and gaining everyone's attention. "It's good to see you." (Jeannie was the most insufferable type of insincere person: the type who THINKS they can fake sincerity, but can't.) "I wish we could sit together like this more often."

"I don't," countered Uncle Peter. "I'm only sitting here because my mother kicked me out of her chair."

Jeannie conjured up a disingenuous laugh. "How nice to know you feel comfortable enough around me to take friendly jabs. I'm so glad our relationship is moving past the unpleasant antagonistic stage to one of mutual respect."

"I don't respect you, Jeannie. I never have. But before you twist THAT into a compliment, let me make myself perfectly clear: I don't like your insincerity, I don't like your two-faced attitude, and I don't like you. The only motive you could have for being civil is you want something. So please dispense with the hollow pleasantries and come right out and ask me for it."

Jeannie's saccharin smile downgraded to a grimace. "It pains me that you believe my genuine attempts at mending our relationship have an ulterior motive. I hope that will change over time." Several beats passed. "...On a completely unrelated topic, I've started a Sunday school class, and I want to know if your children can attend."

Uncle Peter squinted at her as if that would help bring her audacious stupidity into focus. "In which far off, backwoods, parallel universe do you think I'd even remotely consider exposing my children to your ignorant superstitions?!"

All eyes were upon them. Mom's too, but there was a smile playing on her lips.

All pretense dropped from Jeannie's face. "A simple 'no' would have sufficed," she sneered, stabbing her mashed potatoes so hard her fork clanked the plate.

"Like hell it would have!" Uncle Peter rumbled, thumping his fist on the table for emphasis. "I've told you on multiple occasions how I feel about your ignorant beliefs. And yet you still feel it's necessary to push them on me. I'm sick of it! And I'm sure I'm not the only one here who feels the same way!..."

"Boy, ain't that the truth," lisped Randy.

"...So stay the hell away from me and my kids. And keep your voodoo bullshit to yourself!"

Jeannie looked aghast. "Well!" she huffed, looking at Uncle Peter with her nostrils. "If I'm not welcome in this room, I'll just take my food into the next." Then she jumped on her broomstick and flew out.

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