Several weeks ago, I went to a Pampered Chef party hosted by my friend Becky. Becky lives just shy of a mile away from me, and she is a hosting fiend. She seems to enjoy entertaining people…having them in her space…plying them with alcohol…I love Becky.

Anyway, whenever she has a party, I go. At first it was just for moral support…then it was for fun…and now it's because the threat of me spending money makes my husband froth at the mouth. After all, it was through her that I got hooked on Wildtree, after which I stopped using almost all other oil but grapeseed and proceeded to replace our spices with their blends. Now, we both enjoy Wildtree, but it wasn't exactly wallet-friendly to up and revamp the pantry like that.



You can just imagine what raced through his little penny-pinching head when I wrote in my party plans on the calendar.

Two of the goodies I bought were a slicer and microwave-crisper. Now, I could take or leave regular old potato chips—I don't garner the same enjoyment from them as some of my associates…cough-NICK-cough. Now, a bag of sweet potato chips: I could do some damage there. To be fair, you could probably do just about anything with a sweet potato and I would eat it and love it. I abstain most of the time because (in case you didn't know), deep frying anything that is naturally nutritious actually makes it unhealthy.

I wanted an easy way to make homemade, healthy snacks for both me and Nick (but especially for Nick because chips aren't one of my main food groups). I thought he would be tickled if I made him homemade potato chips—he was tickled when I made him homemade scones, so why shouldn't he have the same reaction to chips? Well, my goodies came yesterday, and my first order of business was slicing up a potato.

I lovingly sliced that potato, painstakingly blotting out the excess moisture and seasoning the slices just so. The crispness was ideal, and they just tasted so perfect and fresh (I had to try one). I carried the trays out to him where he was sprawled on the couch watching sports. I expected a reaction, something. His eyes never left the television as he shoveled them into his mouth with his cocky, "I can eat whatever I want and not gain an ounce—and dammit, I'm hungry!" mentality.

I swear those chips were demolished inside of 30 seconds.

My jaw dropped. He noticed my look and at least had the decency to look ashamed.

I guess I should be happy that he can mindlessly eat my chips with the same vigor as the greasy stuff. But still. I'm downright deflated.