I’ve been eager to get back to my blog after working long hours all weekend. I’m a waitress, which doesn’t seem very exciting… unless you work where I work.

After a long Friday night shift, I was back at work at 6 a.m. the following day. By 7:20 a.m I was pulling a large truck around to the backside of a farm to pick up an 80 pound pig that my boss had ordered for a pig roast that we were catering.

I stepped out of the vehicle and was greeted by one of the workers.

I told him the name of the restaurant and repeated the details that I had committed to memory.

“I’m here to pick up an 80 pound pig, gutted, split and de hoofed.”

My stomach turned at the thought.

“You need a fig?” The worker replied.

What? I thought, confused.

“A pig.” I stated.

He nodded, turned and walked into the shadows of the barn.

I chuckled to myself, you would think that this guy would learn to pronounce the word pig, seeing that he worked at a pig farm.

He returned with a large sheet of brown paper and laid it across the length of the interior of the truck.

That was my cue, I quickly got back into the vehicle and sat in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t bear to see this dead pig.

When I heard the back doors of the truck slam closed, I started the engine and drove away.

I glanced in my rear view mirror… thankfully I couldn’t see a thing.

Although it was the early morning, the temperature was already rising as I rolled down the truck’s windows to let in some fresh air.

I thought about how I’d rather be writing than driving around on a hot day with a gutted pig on his way to meet his barbecued fate.

I knew that this busy weekend was going to leave me neglecting my blog.

Oh well, I thought, I can’t blog while I’m driving around with an 80 pound pig…

But I can certainly write about it later.