Mary Ann Hayes

I’ve never had a connection with sausages. They’ve always been a food to eat when living under a rock without the internet to tell us what’s in them. Or without the common sense to look on the package and read the list of death inducing ingredients.  Like when we’re in that frantic stage of life when all we do is run around with our heads in the sand because it’s easier than facing one more issue to deal with.

Pulling my head out years ago was an eye opener. Obviously, I could no longer eat a sausage. Then the foodies got in a snit and insisted on being able to partake of really great sausages that wouldn’t put them in cardiac arrest.

Wallah! Ninety seven percent fat free turkey, tequila, and lime sausage! It’s not a heart attack waiting to happen after all, and they’re loaded with flavor. But what’s with the strangely edible little jackets all sausages come in?

If the sausage wasn’t wearing the jacket, would it just spill out all over the place like a muffin top bulges out over the top of really tight jeans.?  Or like some breasts do that are lifted and served up by those Victoria’s Secret Wonder Bras.    What’s with the skin tight jacket?

Sometimes I think it’s a prelude to bad things to come. I’ve noticed I have more in common with the sausage now that I’m a little older. I too, have to be forced into my jackets, sometimes a bit of me eking out of the seams. Sometimes a chunk of me popping out of  the top or the bottom.  Where did this and that bulge come from anyway?

I bet if I really took a good look, I would find stretch marks on sausage jackets. I mean, they have got to be stretched to the max to get those sausages stuffed in there.  I have to admit, there are a few stretch marks on me these days. Places where my skin got stretched a bit more than God ever intended.

I feel like a sausage when I try and wear my cute little black cocktail dress, or just about anything else hanging in my closet, for that matter.  “I’m packed in here just like a sausage!” comes flying out of my mouth all the time now.  It’s humbling to realize I’ve been snubbing something for most of my life that I’m not only turning into, but that I have so much in common with.

At least I’m not linked. I’m just a single sausage, thank goodness. Unless that’s what married sausages are? Linked? If that’s the case, I’m a linked sausage.

Never in my life did I expect to end up linked to the likes of the low-life sausage! You just never know.

Later,

Mary Ann