Super Bowl Sunday

Today is Super Bowl Sunday, and it seems people are focusing as much on the snacks and foods as on the game itself. Once upon a time, in what I refer to as my other life I actually thought I could love my role as companion, wife, cook and nurturer enough that I would be loved in return. One Super Bowl in particular – probably the last one where I found myself in that particular role, I planned a Super Bowl meal for half-time, centered around what I thought was inspirational … don’t laugh now … seriously … a meatloaf in the shape of a football, even to the ‘laces’ made of red pimento strips. (OK. Even I am smiling a little bit at the stupidity of this!). I could have easily put together a football shaped cake, for God’s sakes … but no, I went for the meat loaf.

Now I ask you. Have you seen any TV chefs on morning shows this week promoting football shaped meat loaves? I think not. Certainly not Martha Stewart. Butterfly shrimp, fried to a golden brown and on a small stick for easy eating, maybe, but no football shaped meat loaves have graced my TV screen. Looking back I can see the folly in dreaming up something so silly, and actually expecting any food to save a relationship, like expecting a Hail Mary pass at the last instant to save the game. It rarely does. I just thought ~ If I put a whole lot of effort into this, it will make a difference. It will show how much I care, about us, our togetherness, about the Super Bowl, even!

Well, it didn’t make a difference. I don’t think anything could have made a difference, and have to admit now, so many years later, that sometimes a game is simply not to be won. But I’ll tell you one thing. I learn from my mistakes. I can truthfully say that there will never be another meat loaf on the menu in this house ever again on a Super Bowl Sunday, no matter what shape it arrives in. Not in this house. Not in this family.

My only regret is that I didn’t take a picture of this one-time master piece. After all, it was a LOT of effort. I am talking about the meat loaf, of course.

About beeconcise

A Southern writer living in the Pacific Northwest.
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