Yesterday morning the dog snagged my breakfast off the table and ran away with it, eating some of it and making the rest of it inedible. It was -- until the dog got to it -- a lovely little bacon omelette. Yesterday night, I had just pulled out more bacon to chomp on for dinner when everybody returned home, bringing the dog with them -- which I didn't realize until he stole that plate of bacon and ate about 2/3 of it. Overall, I think at this point he had eaten about 1/3 of the bacon I'd cooked Monday night.
So last night, after I left to play D&D, apparently Firstborn decided that they needed to cook me more bacon. He tried to enlist his mother to do this; she sent him back to do it himself. So he looked up some instructions online, set the oven to 400 degrees (f) and carefully laid out the remainder of my already-cooked bacon on a bacon sheet before placing it in the oven for 25-35 minutes.
The bacon is gone. There will never be bacon again. I live in a post-apocalyptic, post-aporkalyptic wasteland where bacon is one of the lost treasures of the ancient world -- fondly remembered, told of in tales and chronicles, but still a thing lost and never to be found again.
The bacon is a lie.
So I return to work, baconless, mourning my repeated losses but accepting my defeat. The day must go on, regardless. There are things I have yet to do...
...Shit. I forgot my badge. I can't get into my office without it.
Bah. Let civilization crumble. There's nothing worth saving here.