Modern American society has broken down to the point that people have to hire mentors called “life coaches” to tell them the things their parents, other family members, or peers should have or should be telling them.
As you might know, gentle reader, my own parents are dead, and my stand-offish manner and backwater blog have limited me from developing meaningful friendships with peers and mentors who could guide me to bettering myself instead of spending time maintaining a backwater blog.
But not to worry. I have a new life coach.
All will be better after bacon and a nap.
Actually, I oversell it. Roark does not steal the bacon from the table; he licks it. But now he has discovered the pan in which the bacon is cooked and which sits on the counter with lots of sweet, sweet bacon grease in it, and he has, over the last couple of days, waited for us to sit down at the breakfast table before ambling over there, minding his own business, when lick, lick, lick.