As a heads up, this will be an unfair post. I’m writing about a gastropub famous for its beer, and I’m not a big beer person. In my defense, if people try the food, and they rave about the beer, then this place must be truly remarkable.
True to form, I ordered the bacon wrapped shrimp with marmalade sauce from the Monk’s Kettle in the Mission. It’s not so much that I liked this dish; it’s more that the dish and I shared something beautiful. It was crunchy and fresh and sweet and it was just one of those moments I could not help but feel really happy. This unveiled yet another flaw in my dating skills: I am significantly more interested in bacon than in my date. This is not my date’s fault. He may offer funny stories, ask interesting questions, and be generally enjoyable and intelligent, but there’s really no way he can compete with bacon wrapped shrimp.
It’s fun to date, but I find myself nervous to start investing emotion into someone. I keep glancing down at those scars, and wondering if it’s OK to get more, and how many I can handle.
In an ideal world, I would like to be surrounded by a bigass moat. I’d load the moat up with whales and sharks and a cross between a tiger and a sea snake (I don’t know what this would look like, but I imagine it would be petrifying). I could devise some clever master scheme to make sure the guy on the other side is good (I don’t know how to do this, but in this situation I crossbred a tiger and a sea snake sooo…). Then I can go talk to him. That might lower the likelihood of scarring.
Unfortunately, in real life, I just decide they look nice and hop over my bigass moat to go say hi. That’s how I get into trouble. And that’s why I prefer bacon to men. Never got a scratch from bacon…just happiness.
wrapmeinbacon 
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