how a crock pot transformed my life

A funny moment from my day:

I ran home at lunch today to check on my new little pug, Daisy, and to introduce her to my coworker Christy. {More on her later. The pug, not Christy.}

When we walked into the foyer of my condo building, I smelled something thoroughly wonderful. Onion-y. Garlicky. A rich heartiness that is perfect for a sunny winter's day.

"Oh, I want to eat dinner with whoever is making that yummy goodness," I told Christy.

The closer we got to my apartment, the stronger, the deliciouser {new word!} the smell got.

That's when it hit me: the yummy goodness smell was coming from my apartment.

"That's MY dinner!" I said to Christy. "I get to eat dinner with me!"

Somewhat understandably, Christy looked concerned that a1a) I forgot that I'd started dinner before work, and b2b) I was excited about eating with myself, something I do every night.

This morning—with a little pug standing right next to me the whole time—I sliced onions, measured cumin and cayenne pepper, and opened several cans of black beans and tomatoes.

Then into the Crock Pot it went, and I, just a few hours later, demonstrated how with a Crock Pot, you can get dinner ready to go, walk away, and completely forget about it. I should be on a commercial for them, if they have commercials, which I don't think they do because I've never seen one.

I don't know how I forgot that my Crock Pot would be cooking away for me all day, but however I did that trick, I'm in support of doing it again.

When I walk in the door after a long day at work, it will smell like home. It will smell like someone has been slaving over a stove all day, and that someone wasn't me.

It was a machine, working away for me, and now you're probably looking at me with concern, just as Christy did, because I'm excited about how a machine can take care of me. I don't care.

I don't care because it's 20 degrees out, and I'm going home to eat chili while a little pug sits at my feet.

If you'd like to make your own chili that will make you excited to eat dinner with yourself, try the recipe. I am sorry, but unless you own a pug of your own, you can't entirely re-enact this story; I will not loan my pug to you.