Bacon!

Look who loves him some bacon.

Back in the before time, when I was getting psyched up for the Ninja's arrival, there were two activities that occupied the majority of my time:

1. Getting drunk.
2. Deciding which of my numerous obsessions to pass on to the boy.

Number 1 was easy. Just ask Kitty. Number 2 was a little trickier, since the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn't really care if his preferences matched mine. For instance, I didn't really care if he was a Yankees fan, provided he pretended to be one while around me by wearing a Yankee hat, praising John Sterling's play-by-play and reverently rubbing the piece of Babe Ruth's jersey in the Yankee shrine in the basement. The same would have applied to bacon worship.

Of course, it's better when things work out for real.

Not that it's that surprising that he would be into bacon. After all, he's not a commie.