I made dinner for dinners

In honor of this morning's overseas affair (which was truly lovely, was it not?) I offered to cook my family some good southern chili and cornbread for dinners. I also wore my best plaids and blue jeans. If this doesn't add up for you, you are most likely a normal human being. I, quite frankly, am confused at the relation between all this myself.

(Thanks to roommate Dottie for the fabulous, award-winning chili recipe.)

It turns out that cornbread without cornmeal or any ingredient containing the word "corn" is just bland yellow cake disguised as a side-dish. And boys younger than age 16 don't like chili ("I would like it if it didn't have beans it it. Or corn. Or tomatoes. Or peppers. Or onions."), so I was pretty much the only one who ate it anyway. Mothers are such strong specimens.