The thing about cow lips...

My fathers parents did not believe in higher education, never having experienced it themselves, no doubt. So their 5 sons went into the trades: the oldest and youngest ran an insurance agency, the second and fourth went into the family plumbing business, and the middle kid, my Dad, became a butcher. Dad was extremely personable, at work. At home, he was often irritable and sometimes a ticking timebomb of anger. He ruled by terror. So when we were shopping to get our meat, I was always somewhat confused by the big jolly man in the white apron behind the neat display case, where the hamburger was always in these whipped cream-like swirls. He would give me a weiner, cold, right out of that case. Now I didn't particularly like weiners, but I ate that thing, because I didn't want to disappoint my Dad. Then some evil-minded person told me they were made of cow lips. You know, that didn't phase me. We ate a lot of the cow others didn't: liver, of course, but kidneys and brains, too. Yesterday, in Costco, standing in that ever present line, I began to salivate for one of those huge, plump, juicy ones they sell for $1.50, complete with large soft drink. The line at the food counter was manageable, and I slathered that thing with deli mustard and pickle relish. Boo and I savored every bite. Into each life, let a little cow lips fall.