Haute Flash Contessa

Rants, ramblings, raves of a woman who blames everything from road rage to undercooked pork chops on a hormone imbalance.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Super Bowl Eats

I am now a saint, according to six starving boys in my living room. "Saint Mrs. Contessa" they're calling me as I enter the room every 10 minutes or so during the first half of the Super Bowl carrying a platter of quesadillas or chicken wings. Don't faint, but I even threw together a CROCK POT full of meatballs. No jalapenos or tobasco sauce. I like these kids.

Of course, The Big Guy was in charge of all the goodies. He came home from the grocery store last night with a dozen bags, all filled with "nothing good for you". Chips and dip and more dip and chips. Nothing to EAT. What was on the man's mind? Six teenage boys and just chips???? Oh,I know what he was thinking. He suggested we eat a huge breakfast this morning and then a BIG DINNER at 4 p.m. All prepared by you-know-who. Then we "snack." Wrong.

The second-half of the game features french fries, ice-cream cake, and if they're still hungry, cookies from my choir stash. Afterward, I'll send them all home and let their mothers deal with them.


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