Challenge
Bacon. Not Sir Francis, but crispy, dead, pig. Discuss. And thank you fire_theft for reminding me how much I love it.
I volunteer to be the odd one out...
I remember crying at the breakfast table as I smelled the scent of grease float closer and closer, my impending doom.
Dad's rule is 'you have to finish everything on your plate', but 6-year-old me got good at hiding it in napkins, throwing it across rooms into the garbage, and on occasion flushing it down the toilet.
As I got older I'd always get priceless reactions, just like yours right now:
I've never liked bacon.
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