|From Jumanji. Thank you!|
As I've mentioned many times in the past, I grew up in a farm -- you know, with cows, pigs, rabbits, chickens, numerous dogs, a cat that kept on returning to our house despite my parents' best efforts to get rid of it. My parents used to raise pigs for slaughter. What a tragic life for those pigs, right? Well, those pigs supported my education. *Hats off to you, dear piggies.*
Anyway, at the close of the high school freshman year, I got chicken pox. It was awful, not only because of the terrible, terrible itchiness and scars it brought, but also because I transmitted it to everybody in the family. By the time I got well, Madear and Fadear were in their heights (or depths?) of the illness and had severe rashes all over, so I was tasked to care for the dear piggies. If memory serves, there were ten -- five on each pen.
They were a cute, yet very rowdy lot. Come feeding time, nag-uunahan sila sa food. Mga dayukyok. I bathe them after feeding, and one time, while showering them using a water hose, I turned my back to them and next thing I knew, my shorts were down the floor. WHAT. THE. EFF? Apparently, one of the darn pigs bit and pulled my shorts down. I SWEAR, each and every one of those pigs were LAUGHING at me.
Here's my final word on the matter: Ang sarap ng bacon!