Look closely.

What do you see?

A ribbon of fat, perhaps?

Ssshhh. Listen. This is not just any fat ribbon. This fat ribbon has a story to tell, and we must listen closely. This gelatinous leftover is the crux of a mystery that has slowly developed over the course of one long and convoluted night, effectively tying together a series of previously uncorrelated events.

This fat ribbon is the smoking gun.

EVENT 1

3:00 A.M.

Awoken by a strange mechanical rumbling.

“Is Max drying clothes? At 3:00 am?! WTF?”

Not until I heard the unmistakably annoying “beep beep beep beep” did I realize what I was hearing was actually the microwave. Still weird, but not as weird as the dryer.

EVENT 2

3:25 A.M.

Awake again, but this time the culprit is an overweight pug who has spontaneously chosen my bedroom as his place of repose and is performing his usual rooftop-lifting snores.

“How did that fat bastard hoist himself up onto the bed without waking me up?”

I sweep my feet back and forth under the covers searching for his hot, smelly body so that I can catapult him to the floor. I come up with nothing.

Annoyed, I pick up my head to look for him, and that’s when I realize that the cacophonous snores are not coming from overweight pug, but from husband! Repeated prods in his back and shoulder do not rouse him. Adult tantrum including tearing the comforter from bed does not rouse him. I sleep in guest room.

And that brings us to the present. The ribbon of fat laying on my counter is my “aha” moment — the final clue to the mystery of the night’s clouded events.

“Why would Max have been eating the WEEKS OLD proscuitto? More so, why would Max be MICROWAVING proscuitto? In summary, why would Max be MICROWAVING the WEEKS OLD proscuitto at 3:00 a.m.?”

Only one conclusion can be drawn:

ALCOHOL.