Monday morning quarterbacks are analyzing who did what right and wrong yesterday and assessing how outcomes measured up to predictions. I’m reviewing a scorecard of my own sinful Super Bowl performance.
In my Saturday blog post, I anticipated there would be chili, but anticipated avoiding it—and beer—in the spirit of complying with my prescribed dietary restrictions. It’s lonely being a laryngopharyngeal reflux disease sufferer while attending a chili party at which 10 or more varieties of chili are featured. My will power lasted long enough for me to hang up my coat.
After enjoying samples—two to three spoonfuls each—of nine different chilis, I admitted failure. And went to another party.
In all, let the scorecard show that, after 25 bites of forbidden, delicious chili (which we’ll count as one super sin), I consumed enough chips and dip to collapse into a gluttonous stupor. I scooped up layered Mexican dip and chili con queso and discovered a yummy new dip – pepperoni cream cheese.
The only way to shock myself back into consciousness was with two large cookies and a cupcake, followed by two extra strength Tums and a Zantac. At least let the scorecard show that the only thing I drank was water.
To sum it up, the final score of Super Bowl XLV was Sins 7, Virtues 1. Thank goodness the season is over.
I like a good Super Bowl party as much as the next person, but for different reasons. I really go for the food. And the beer. At least I did before my doctor cut off all sources of fun.
Word Nymph 