I like beercan chicken and the fun part of that for me is that I am not responsible for making there be dinner. I enjoy cooking dinner but I also enjoy not cooking dinner. I think I'm pretty easy to please. So while I spent the afternoon working (what? I've cut back!) he gathered all the necessary ingredients (chiefly chicken but also cheap, canned beer). While I was upstairs bathing Kate, finally, he was down here placing his beercan chicken on the grill. He's made pretty often, no one anticipated the subsequent turn of events.
He arrived upstairs in the bathroom, furious, to ask me what I wanted for dinner. I knew better than to give the gingerbread men answer this time and obediently replied "beercan chicken...?" Turns out the bird took a dive and ended up imbued with beer and just WRONG WRONG WRONG. There was much growling and though he didn't do it, I could tell he was dying to stamp his foot really hard on the floor. I hate to see him so distraught and I really hate to waste food but I have to confess, I think getting sushi is fun, too.