Sean's Meat is More Than I Can Handle

I would like to point out, before I begin writing the actual content of this blog, that I have achieved Best Girlfriend Ever status simply by titling it thus.
We now return you to your regularly-scheduled blog reading.

There is a reason that my mother rarely sent my father to the grocery store to pick up a few things she needed. Or my aunt sent my uncle. Or my grandmother sent my grandfather. Or Lucy sent Desi. Or countless other couples, for generations and generations back as far as the eye can see. This reason became apparent to me the other night.

I had given Sean a quick list of things to pick up at the nearest Shaw's grocer before heading home for the night. A simple list, really. Salad, a tomato or two, salad dressing, some boneless pork chops that I thought would be good with honey, lime, and cilantro.

When I got home, I was inwardly happy with his efforts. See, I thought to myself, he did a great job! He even got the on-the-vine tomatoes that I like! There even appeared to be some sort of pork roast in the fridge. I didn't really pay too much attention, though, because Sean was coming in to help make dinner.

"Honey!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Did you see what I got?"

He began pulling the pork roast out of the fridge. And continued doing so for a good 6 minutes. This may be the biggest pork roast ever known in the history of domesticated pigs. What I had glimpsed had been, much like the tip of an iceberg, only the beginning.

The ordeal of refridgerator removal behind him, Sean stood beaming, plastic-encased pork flopped over both sides of his arms, dwarfing his 6-foot-4 frame. Holding it up like some kind of overabundant sacraficial offering, he eagerly awaited my praise. "It was on SALE!" he added.

And so it was. Down from $40.03 to $20.03. Ten pounds of pork roast. Now, I realize that this doesn't sound like too terribly much. We've all seen ten pound turkeys, and they're not so big.

That ten pounds includes bones, skin, and giblets.

This pork roast? Ten pounds of hard-core meat. It's large enough to disturb my old vegetarian sensibilities, too big to fit lengthwise in the refridgerator.

"We can have sandwiches!"

God help me. Save me from the pork.