It's DiGiornos!

My lovely husband is not that good in the kitchen. From the Valentine's dinner that was too spicy hot to eat and burnt cookies to the rubber glove pan fire of 2007, my husband has a way with destroying food, pans, and kitchen utensils. Tonight on my way home from a late class, I called him suggesting we go out to celebrate my first day of work/school. The husband stated that he had a lot of work to do, but he would put a pizza in the oven, providing for his starving wife.

We went over the instructions together. Yes, I normally put it on foil on a cookie sheet. No, I don't wait for the oven to preheat. No, 6-8 minutes doesn't seem like the right amount of time. Oh... 6-8 inches from the bottom, yes, that sounds better. 19-21 minutes to bake is probably accurate. By the end of this conversation I was sure I would have dinner waiting for me when I got home.

Well, I did have dinner. Unfortunately, I left out an early detail in the process, how to remove the pizza from the box. He forgot to remove the cardboard piece from under the pizza, so every slice was cooked onto the cardboard. After scraping, prying, and sawing, we finally had dinner ready to consume. It wasn't delivery.

Chinchillas v. Alicia

Alicia Sacramone had a rough night in the gymnastic team finals. She fell off the beam and stumbled through her floor routine. At the end of the evening, she was being interviewed. Her beautiful brown eyes filling with tears as she explained how she cost America the gold. The reporter was relentless asking more questions than a trampled gymnast should ever have to answer.

At the end, the satisfied reporter sent it back to the anchor woman in the studio. She said that Alicia's parents had a really tough job tonight, trying to reassure their daughter of her inherent worth. Then she said this is probably when her parents wish they were raising chinchillas.



I am sure many chinchilla owners can be overheard saying, "Thank goodness I don't have an Olympic gymnast daughter. I have my chinchilla."

Likewise, I am sure Alicia's parents can be overheard whispering, "If we would have only given birth to chinchillas..."

Thank you anchor lady for such insight.

Peace to the World

I have heard people say not to marry someone thinking they are going to change because they won't. I thought they were just talking about BIG things, but as it turns out, they were also referring to the spouses' wardrobes. When the husband and I were dating, we would sometimes go running together. One day he showed up at my dorm wearing pink and brown plaid shorts with an elastic waistband. It was hard to focus on the jog when all I kept thinking about was the shorts.

We got married, and I semi-secretly gave away his prized shorts believing that I had indeed changed him. He stopped wearing the shorts, and he even stopped donning socks with scandals. Then he found it, a trophy shirt that perhaps rivals the shorts. I had to lay the ground rules. You may only wear this inside the apartment when we have absolutely no guests. Yes, other family members count as guests. This shirt says, "Peace," which I approve of, but the word is spelled out in rainbow letters that look like they came straight from the seventies. The only consolation is that he can't simultaneously wear both the peace shirt and the plaid shorts.

Yesterday, I was antsy to take Watson for a walk, and the husband wanted to come along. The only problem was...his attire. The peace shirt. I love his company, so I made an exception. As we were walking down the street, I was waiting for someone to take our picture for a fashion don't spot. At least my eyes would be covered by a thick black line of secrecy. Then an older lady walking in the opposite direction passed us. She started, "I like..." I was thinking the ending of this statement was going to be, "I like your dog." This is the most uttered statement when we go for a walk, but she surprised us both when she finished it by looking at the husband and uttering, "your shirt." I guess I will have to give peace a chance.

Olympic Proposal For Equality

The Olympic Spirit has swept through my household. The rafters no longer look like indispensable structural centerpieces; they begin to resemble the parallel bars that will enable my husband and I to begin our gymnastics careers. The love seat that once held movie-watchers now appears to be a vault daring us to sprint, catapult, twist, turn, and stick the landing. I, like most, have dreamed about being an Olympian since I can remember. I recall the thought that if my parents only built an ice skating rink in our back yard, I would without doubt be the best figure skater ever seen.

As I grew older, I began to fall in love with other sports. Most events have certain body types that are better suited for these contests. The inequality of this has struck me as un-American, so I believe that I have a solution that has already been instituted in part within several progressive sports. In wrestling and boxing, participants weigh-in and are only asked to compete against those who share their physical characteristics. What if in volleyball participants measure-in? Those who are short then can play against other short people, and perhaps, they could have a net that is proportional to their height. This could be instituted in basketball, volleyball, and the high jump. Think of all the short people who could finally become what they were meant to be.