Failure of the Day: Thank God, Really

The two weeks from hell are winding to a close. Chris and I have both tomorrow and Sunday to ourselves. Tomorrow we will head to Serramonte Center to use the Good Guys girt card a very nice customer sent to Chris for doing him a favor, and then we will hit my beloved Fresh Choice for dinner. Sunday is all football, all the time. Sunday is also Real Food day for me; I'm allowed to have whatever I want for dinner on Sundays, as decreed by me, diet or no diet, so Chris is making chili.

Chili is potentially a dicey proposition because I don't eat beans or tomatoes. Tomato sauce, yes; tomatoes, no. It's complicated. When Chris first started experimenting with chili, it tasted great but the ground beef was in pieces so small it was hard for me to fish them out. I suggested making small meatballs, which is of course a perfectly reasonable suggestion, but Chris looked at me like I had committed some sort of heinous blasphemy. "Chili doesn't have meatballs!" he shouted, and by shouted, you understand I mean that he spoke just audibly. "Sure it does!" I countered, "You just have to put meatballs in!" My logic was clearly inarguable.

Still flush from that particular victory, I have another idea for chili. Chris is resisting it mightily; he is some sort of chili fundamentalist (and that is something you don't find out until you're married, I tell you what). But come on, wouldn't it be cool to add noodles? Chili-a-roni! It's a million dollar idea right there. We could retire off the proceeds from our Chili-a-roni empire. Because surely I am not the only person who realizes that the problem with most food is that it is not more like spaghetti. If everything were more like spaghetti, wouldn't life be grand?