Breakfast

The smell drifted into the bedroom as he awoke.
Bacon, glorious bacon!
He jumped out of bed and threw on his dressing gown.
As he descended the stairs, he noticed that it didn't quite smell like bacon. Had his wife been to that cheap supermarket instead of Waitrose again?
He entered the kitchen and stood open-mouthed, staring at his wife.
"Morning, dear," she said.
She was frying a huge lump of meat in the pan. It wasn't bacon.
"This'll shift your hangover!"
His face paled.
His wife was bleeding quite heavily from the stump below her elbow where she'd recently severed her arm.