A Dead Pig and Winning Lip Gloss

Cured pork fat is the best fat; it’s silken, sexual, and never disappoints. In Chicago, when I served mid-morning meals to socialites and hipsters at Toast, I would breakfast on fistfuls of prosciutto and a can of Coke. The combination was a drug that made me feel mischievous, wanted, and alive.

A few moments ago I finished a lunch of crumpets topped with cream cheese, pumpkin butter, and my old friend prosciutto. I washed it down with a lovely glass of Alsatian Gewurtz and am feeling something akin to my early morning Toast buzz. I am so lucky; I have a new job and new life looming nearby and in a few weeks I’ll be free to do or be anything I want. Nothing could get me down this afternoon. Really. Not even my current predicament with tonight's Navy Ball. Under normal circumstances the following would launch me into an anxiety attack: I’ve lost my ticket and don’t know what uniform to wear. But this afternoon I’m all smiles. Physics unquestionably dictates that I choose the path of least resistance and usually that would mean ducking out of the pomp, but I’m going to the ball with the command Master Chief (among a handful of others) and am certain my absence would be noted and broadcast next week to the Senior Chief who gave me the free ticket. Besides, I bought a new Estee Lauder lip gloss and eye liner for the occasion. I need to debut my fall look.

As it happens, my glassy wine colored gloss is much better suited to dinner dress blues than dinner dress whites, so cross your fingers for me. I’m about to have the quarterdeck call the Officer of the Deck (OOD) to find out what to wear.

Photos to follow, assuming I talk my way in the door at the Marriott.