This phrase was the wifi password at a friend’s house. A nerdy friend. Why is this nerdy, and not, say, vegetarian? Bad bad beef uses only the first six letters of the alphabet. In hexadecimal, badbadbeef is 802549513967. Fascinating.
The last few days, the phrase is on repeat in my head.
Tuesday night I cooked some ground beef for dinner. It was…marginal. Not spoiled beyond consumption, but on its way. DH and I ate it with plenty of salt and didn’t save the leftovers.
Food spoilage isn’t a big problem for me. I’m a good planner. It surprised me that Tuesday’s beef was bad. I bought it on Sunday.
Where is this story going, you might be asking. Hexadecimal, domestic tasks, questionable judgment. What’s going on?
I bought that ground beef on Sunday afternoon. At the Table Mesa King Soopers in Boulder. Almost exactly 24 hours before a maniac opened fire and killed a bunch of people there. Did he have a bad bad beef? We don’t yet know.
My kitchen cabinets are stocked with staples from that store. Almonds. Popcorn kernels. Seasoned salt. And in the refrigerator, the other perishables I bought Sunday. A flank steak. Shredded cheddar. Lettuce. Too many reminders of the bad bad beef.
oh Laura, this gives me the chills. It is terrifying and so horrid that is so close to you. I don’t know how to even process it! Good thoughts to you and DH and your community , xo Jen
Laura, thank you for this post. As I read through it, each perfect paragraph elicited totally different emotions in me. I believe you are the master of this! In the end, I felt you described some of your own emotions about the tragedy that should have never happened. Thinking of you and Boulder and sending congratulations to you on your upcoming new leadership role.