Early on, today was sort of looking like it might turn out badly. Some people in another department have been dicks this week, causing us no end of grief and aggravation. I’m a bit behind on a project I was supposed to have finished yesterday. There was no reason to expect today to be any different or less stressful, and, to top it off, we had to attend a divisionwide meeting called by our überboss, the Vice Provost. I figured it would be another boring org meeting, dull, gray icing on our bitter cake of loathing, though breakfast was promised. “Try and have a good day”, my wife offered, as I left for work.

I shrugged, trying to come up with something that might concievably lighten my mood. “I will”, I finally replied, “as long as there’s bacon.” Expecting nothing more than mediocre donuts and coffee, though, I didn’t hold out much hope for deliverance through gustatory delight.

But lo! My pessismism was misplaced. There were eggs and potatoes O’brien and tortillas and salsa and sour cream and beans and… BACON. The pinnacle of porcine provender, the best bit of breakfast, the sole sovereign of salted meats, was there in abundance. Bacon, just there for the taking, and take I did, several times, yet there was still enough for the horde of colleagues filling the dining room.

And life is good. Nothing else matters. I’ve got bacon.