The Pork Shop

No, this isn't the sick perverted Nina writing here. The Pork Shop is our neighborhood....uhhh...pork shop? They sell the most delectable pork in all of Arizona, the world I think. Michael is addicted to the smoked pepper sticks, I prefer the teriyaki sticks or smoked apple pecan sausage. The have the world's best bacon and brats. I just know when I'm making my famous maple rosemary pork chops I'm going to The Pork Shop. Yummmmmm!

There is a really nice man that helps me every time I go in there. He looks a little weird. He has a long mustache and you can tell he twists it. I wonder if it is a nervous tick. Anyway, he is the best. I was in there one time with my dad. We were trying to determine how many pounds of fat tire beer brats we needed for a cook out. I guess the guy overheard me saying that it was going to cost an arm and a leg. When we went to check out he said, " Here is a pound of free brats for you and another pound for your dad." Now where can you get that kind of kindness? I just adore him.

Today I took Sam there. He was impressed to say the least. I mentioned to the mustache guy (damn I can't remember his name) that I was really good friends with the lady who paints their windows. We started chatting like two old ladies who had known each other all their lives. I wonder if he has a family. I wonder what he does in his spare time. Don't get me wrong, I'm not fantasizing about the guy. He just seems so nice and friendly I wonder where I find people like that. I wonder why he wears his mustache like that too. I guess I just wonder a lot.

Anyway, three cheers for pork! :) Yes, I realize this was a ramble about pork, fucking sue me...