Last night Stu and his wife stoped by for chili. Good hausfrau Ally took the time to brew up a pot full today. I'm forever rubbing my hands in glee and taste testing, asking inanely "when's the nuclear chili going to be done," and generally getting in the way.

But when the Stuster and wife arrived, here I was, glued to the screen and in the middle of something. And using that, you know, left side of the brain type thing, while the real world just swirled past. I vaguely remember Stu waving some sort of yellowish vegetable about, proclaiming that he'd brought 'just the thing for this chili.' By the time I had extricated myself, they were already in the middle of a chili slurping frenzy. I strolled to the kitchen to get myself a bowl.

And I see a little pile of shredded cheese, and some bread, and other condiments laid out on the counter for me. How thoughtful. I love cheese of top of the chili. Load me up, baby.

Until I sit down and see another package of shredded cheese on the table. And Ally asks me if I want cheese, and I decline since I already had some in there, right?

Stu's a discerning sort of fellow who figured it out immediately. "So you thought that was cheese on the counter, eh? You don't remember what I had in my hand when we walked in?"

Nope. I was on the computer (I added this a bit huffily, I'm sure).

Bursting with the pride of a worker of the soil, Stu says, "it was a fresh jabenero pepper from the garden!"

Now I won't sit here and tell you that I ate the entire bowl. But after 3 cans of drink, plenty of bread, a half roll of paper towels for my perspiring brow, I waved the flag of defeat by chili.

It's nice to know that I can provide such entertainment for my guests. It was the highlight of the evening for Stu, who was gasping for air, and not because of the chili. They're already plotting my demise by way of pizza, I'm sure.

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