Introducing the bacon hat. Or: Please don't take a picture of me on a Saturday morning.

I told a friend recently that I can't do anything in the morning until I've had a shower.
She asked me a very valid question: "But don't you just love being lazy on the weekends and hanging out in your pj's?"

Oh boy do I.

I love it so much I will wake up on the weekend, head straight for the shower, get myself all cleaned up, and get back into my pyjamas to enjoy a slow and lazy morning in a state of perfect cleanliness.

Perhaps it's cheating, but this is how I roll.

Lately however, something is beginning to cramp my style.
And it goes by the name of Bacon.

Lately when I cook it the bacon fumes seem to be absorbed into every single strand of hair on my head. It is especially potent if you prefer smoked bacon, such as we do. It stays in there all day and every time I move my head I get a whiff of it. Even when I go to bed, I am still carrying around a halo of bacon.

I don't remember this being an issue for me before. Perhaps British bacon just has that kind of staying power.

This past weekend when the time for making bacon presented itself, I found myself hesitating.
I mean, I was already fresh and clean and my hair smelled like sunshine and lollipops.

So I expressed my concern to G.
He listened very, very intently but offered me no advice.
Mostly because he thinks I am insane.

A few minutes later he discovered that I had found my solution. There I stood with a frying pan in hand, and my freshly washed and dried hair tucked safely inside a shower cap.

And thus was born the bacon hat.

It's not sexy people, but put a girl in some skimpy pj's with a frying pan full of bacon in her hand, and I'm pretty sure your man won't even notice the shower cap.


Seriously.