I have already indicated that my cooking ability is jaundiced.  I try.  We lived in a condo development with a large clubhouse.  All were invited to participate in a chili cook off.   I responded, “Yes!”

I spent a whole day on the chili making.  I made a large batch of what my family knew as chili.  They went with me as I proudly carried a large crock pot of the chili into the clubhouse.  Others were doing the same thing.  I plugged it in and put it on the lowest setting.  We left the clubhouse together.  The four laughed as we exited, the fruit of my loins.

My life has always been a string of days with uncontrollable events.  We forgot about the chili and the gathering in the clubhouse.  The next day we went to the clubhouse to pick up the crock pot.  Others were smiling, laughing, and carrying their cleaned containers that had held their winning chili recipes.  We looked around and could not find my crock pot.

It was in a back room.  It was full of my chili, uneaten.  I felt a wave of sadness wash over me.  The crock pot was also unplugged, and the chili was spoiled even by my family’s standards.  I have not made chili again and it has been years.