Monday, December 28, 2015

All By Myseeeelf And Nipplegate

On my way in this morning I probably only encountered 10 cars, making it clear that I'm in the thick of Microsoft-land.

Being off the bike for so many days in a row felt strange. I've been off it more or less for two weeks due to the passing of my sister in law and the holidays. But I have committed to commuting all year, so on the bike I hopped this morning.

The air in my rear tire was almost completely out with a psi of 30. Strange, since this was the tire I had replaced recently. Meanwhile the front tire was almost full at 100 psi.

Christmas was uneventful and instead of the great outdoors I spent most of the time surfing online. It was way too cold for recreational cycling, and while I enjoy biking lots and far, I think that one day biking around Lake Washington might have broken me as far as cold tolerance goes. I did see a group of riders, 'scuse me - peloton, decked out Josh Ross style, riding their bikes with just their eyes peaking out.

There was one incident I want to share with y'all, but if you're of the sensitive type, stop reading now.

People eat all kinds of foods for Christmas dinner. Our tradition is roasted pork ribs - a slab of belly ribs, with scored rind, and rubbed in salt and pepper overnight. This year was no different. It's a little tricky to get ahold of this particular cut of pork so in the past I have gone to Asian markets where we used to live. However, this was the first Christmas in the new hood with new stores.

The first store we went to was a bust. They were out of the cut I needed so off I went to another Asian market. They had my cut and happily I headed home to prepare it. Hubby had bought an exacto knife, which from experience is the best tool for the job - unless you have a knife sharpener and quality knives (I have the latter, but all three knives are dull from years of not tending to them).

As I was mid-way scoring the rind, I noticed a discolored bump on the rind, which is just a fancy word for skin. As I grab the part to cut it off, I realize what I'm holding; it's a nipple!

Let it be said, I'm not easily bothered by such things and it's not my first rodeo. Let's just say I'm no friend of PETA. I know where meat comes from and I know how it goes from live animal to delicious steak on my plate.

I quickly cut off the nipple, but made a little sound as I did. Hubby asked me if I cut myself. All I managed to say was "nipple", which lead to explaining what and how, to which hubby replied, "I wish you hadn't told me".

Well, I told myself that I could handle that and went to finish the job - and encountered a second nipple, which shouldn't have come as a surprise because nipples seldom appear alone, and on an animal they usually come in several pairs, not just one.

I thought this wouldn't bother me. I was wrong.

It didn't bother me all through the following day's preparation. It didn't bother me as I sliced up the rib.

But as I'm starting to eat the former delicious pork, I find myself unable to swallow. The piece of pork that's residing in my mouth just won't go down. Hubby didn't fare any better.

We are now anti-porkitarians. Practically vegans. Next thing you know, you'll find me in the aisles of Whole Foods.

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