Last week, I made a – if I do say so myself – killer pork roast. I will admit that most of the credit goes to Archer Farms for having the foresight to put garlic, herbs, and a layer of cheese on top the pork roast that we purchased. It was a damn fine roast.
The next day, which was last Friday, I brought the leftovers to work to enjoy for my lunch with a yogurt. However, part way through the day, it occurred to me that the flimsy plastic knives we have at work were probably not going to be able to help me carve my delicious roast into bite-sized pieces, and as I prefer not to gnaw large hunks of meat at my desk, I thought that I would bring a knife to work to polish off the roast.
Yesterday being my birthday, I knew I wouldn’t be eating at work (thanks to Sarah for taking me out for a birthday lunch!), so I had planned to bring a knife to work today, Tuesday. However, when I went to make my coffee yesterday, I noticed that my roast is gone.
Let me repeat:
Some bastard stole my pork roast from the work fridge.
Who would do such a dastardly thing?