I've mentioned before I was never a huge wing person until I met Chris. Eating food straight off a bone isn't for me. No thanks, too gross. Too many dirty napkins. Too many dirty faces. Too much sticky everything.
But sometimes we do things for the people we love because we know how happy it will make them. We put aside our own wants and desires, or our own fears and anxieties, because we know in the end it will be worth it.
We put on a happy face and make the best of it. We make sacrifices. We wear pink sunglasses. And we drink beer and eat wings even though we kind of want to drink a Bloody Mary and have a nice quiche. Like I said, sacrifices.
And it's all so we get the chance to see a look of pure joy on a grown man's face after he's successfully eaten 58 wings in 20 minutes. Without breaking a sweat.
This guy is a champ. I've never been more proud than I was on Saturday at Wingfest. It was as if Chris has been preparing for this day his entire life.
He was crowned King Wing. Okay that's not true, but if there had been a crowning, Chris would have won. While everyone else was crying and wiping their noses from the crazy hotness of some of the most disgustingly spicy wings ever, Chris hardly even noticed. He just kept on eating like the barbarian he is. He dug deep and went back to his viking roots.
As for me... Well I tried not to look at the dirty napkins and dirty baskets full of discarded bones littered all over the place. Sticky fingers and sticky cheeks and sticky people licking their cheeks and fingers at every turn. One might say I didn't even notice. Nope. Didn't notice any of this... Still not noticing it.
I get to marry King Wing in one year. You don't have to say it, I know I'm a lucky girl.
I hope your weekend was just as ... tasty. Are you guys ready for another Monday? Me neither.