Teeth Bared, Knives Flashing

When my phone alarm buzzes Saturday morning, it reads, “Time to slice and dice.”  I have no trouble rising from my mattress.

I have a weakness for our beef jerky, and I’ve only had it hot out of the smoker.  I’m spoiled. 

As I spread the slices of marinated and tumbled eye of round out on a smoking rack, they look like the countries of Africa to me.  The process resembles fitting together the pieces of a puzzle; I try to get as much meat as possible per rack.  When they come out, they are left in a bucket to cool in the back room.  I keep sneaking pieces when no one is looking, happily munching while I scrub dishes.   

“I’m Back Baby”

Yes that is a Bender quote.  I took a bit of a hiatus there, but now I’m back.  I return to my sanctuary.  During my time away, my hands have healed, but my heart has been dealt another blow.  Suffice it to say that someone I loved very much (and still do, against my better judgment) loved someone else more.  Maybe I’ll write that story someday, but today is not that day.  This is, after all, the tale of the butcher shop girl, and not the tale of her epic failures in the realm of romance.  Besides, the story of the stupid girl who fell for the wrong boy?  That one’s old as the ages.

I’m taking it out on the physical labor; banging around more than necessary while hauling lugs of raw meat back and forth, scrubbing blood and fat from racks and pans, wielding the high-powered pressure washer to rinse cutting boards, filling the rag buckets with fresh water and bleach.