My commute drives me crazy sometimes.

In order to avoid highways until the last possible second, I spend a lot of time on windy two-lane roads. I like this because I drive a consistent speed most of the time and get to see lots of lush farmland.

The downside comes when an accident happens on my route, like one night a few weeks ago. I suddenly found myself trapped in a backup, unable to get to a side road that would provide an alternate route home.

Generally, I try not to lose my mind when this happens. I honestly have less patience when headed to work. On the way home, I can listen to the radio and start dreaming about what kind of delicious dinner awaits me.

The most recent night this happened, however, I had no idea what was on the menu at home. I didn’t call and update my wife because I expected to be a little late anyway. I didn’t see the need to bug her.

When I walked in the door – an hour later than normal – I could not believe my eyes. She made baked potatoes for dinner, complete with bacon. Real bacon. That’s how you rally from a tedious drive home.

I don’t get a chance to eat real bacon very often. My stupid cholesterol levels combined with my conscience make it a rare treat. As I heated up my spud and prepared the rest of my fixings, I could not stop thinking about the crunchy goodness which awaited me.

So I sat down at the table with the steaming potato on my plate. I applied the butter (or butter substitute – cholesterol strikes again) and sprinkled some cheese on top. Then I crumbled up some bacon for the coup de grace, sneaking a piece in my mouth as a reward for making it home in one piece.

I only needed one more thing before I could dig in. I reached across the table to grab the pepper grinder. We have one of those name-brand disposable contraptions which cranks out really good pepper.

I picked it up, removed the cap, twisted and splat!

I will swear to my dying day that I did nothing different than the countless other times I used the same style of pepper grinder. Yet, this time, the lid came off completely and sent pepper everywhere. Not small specks of ground pepper, but peppercorns rolling across the table and onto the floor.

These things only happen to me, I thought as I surveyed the damage. My hot, tasty potato ended up in the trash. The vacuum cleaner broke the silence of my peaceful respite. All I could do was laugh.

After we cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, I tossed back another piece of bacon and pulled the last vestiges of some ice cream out of the freezer. Things may have not gone according to plan, but I still ended up with a really tasty dinner in the end.