When I was little, I read a book by that name. Author something like Estes. It was a kid book, but I didn't understand it then, and I reread it and discover I don't really understand it now either.

Tomorrow, I'm going to try on wedding dresses for the first time. *boxing bell* In the red trunks, we have hopes, dreams, vague inclinations, and a stack of dress pictures printed from the internet. In the blue corner, we have heaps of damning hearsay about the entire dress shopping experience from recent brides, and a general dislike/mistrust of things that are too girly. The matchup of the century! Seven o'clock! Dress boxing!

The best thing, so far, about being in possession of an engagement ring is seeing how many lame Lord of the Rings jokes I can cram into a conversation with my one true boy.

</nerd>

It can be a visual art prompt too if you'd like, but as for me, I can see at least two very interesting stories in this horrible anecdote:

After months of planning, years of emotional intimacy, and a great deal of money invested into the most "perfect wedding"; my bride leaves our table at the reception to take a "quick powder room break", and I haven't seen her since. She did manage to abandon the wedding dress and a note saying, "I'm sorry", in the locked (from the inside) bathroom. - It's been nearly 3 years.

found here:
[link] posted by stillsolo, third message.

So the form arrived in January, the complete file arrived on Friday the 21st, and I just got back from the post office today, Wednesday the 26th, from sending my magical and terrifying letters.

To begin, take about one onion, and a green pepper, and a handful of little carrots or one or two real grownup carrots, and chop them all up into tiny tiny pieces, especially the carrots unless you think it might be fun to have crunchies when you're done. Put the soup kettle on, heat some oil, and then cook the carrot-pepper-onion until you absolutely can't wait anymore to proceed or until the veggies are as done as you want them.

Then add the meat and cook it, and maybe add a little salt and pepper. (In my case, it's one package of fake meat from Morningstar, the stuff that simulates ground beef. Did I mention I'm a vegetarian? Apparently we taste better.) </wickedness> Once the meat or meatlike object is cooked, the rest is in no particular order.

A can of tomatoes with onion and pepper. A can of pinto beans, and another of kidney beans, and another of black beans, and another of chili beans. A jar of salsa. A chopped up jalapeno pepper, and a chopped up tomato. A sippy-cup-sized glassful of vermouth. A pause to think about it, during which is added a few dashes of paprika, cumin, cayenne pepper, nutmeg, and cinnamon.

Begin to let it simmer over any heat that seems appealing, settling on low-medium low as a happy medium, no pun intended. Contemplate things like adding a can of Coke, or some rum, or some whiskey, or some minced artichoke hearts and maybe some sundried tomatoes, and fennel while you're at it but probably at the beginning. Write the ideas down somewhere (like here for instance) so there's a document to find next time you're in this particular chili mood. Survey the mess you've made of the kitchen, and on impulse mash half a lime's worth of juice into the pot. The end!

It's for dinner tomorrow because I know from last time that nothing gets the taste quite where I want it the day of preparation. (That time I tried cocoa powder to try and get that missing flavor. Friends don't let friends add ingredients without tasting to make sure it needed something else.) I'll try to remember to come back and mention if it's weird, as I feared after the nutmeg, or if it's tasty, as I hoped after the lime juice.

***

3-4-08
Yes, the chili is tasty. And yes, it might be even tastier if I had gone stark raving and added at least half a can of coke, and maybe some sundried tomato.