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I never had BBQ ribs ’till I started going out with Hub. My Mother was a good* cook, but she just never got around to the ribs.

*fair

But once Hub and I started going out, he often ordered ribs. It didn’t take me long to figure out that BBQ ribs were his favorite thing. One of them, anyway.

After we got married, and drove home through the mile-high snow (see this post) I decided that the first meal I fixed for him, that next day, would be his favorite BBQ ribs.

So I did. And they were good, too. Really, really good.

They were so good, and got such a happy reaction, that I thought I’d fix them the next night, too. And the next.

Around the middle of that second week, he finally said something. I don’t remember his exact words, but it had something to do with the fact that his tongue was burned raw and did I know how to cook anything else for a change? To which I replied, like the Jerry Lewis clone that I apparently am, “What, you don’t like ribs any more?”

I didn’t make them again for three years.

However, we had them tonight. And they were good. There are some leftovers, too. He’ll have those tomorrow night. As for the night after that, well, lesson learned. We’ll have something else, like maybe French toast made with rye bread. Oh wait, that was the breakfast lesson I learned all those years ago. (Don’t try that at home; it’s AWFUL!) But he loved rye bread, and he loved French toast, and I just thought. . . . . .

You live and learn. I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve learned a lot. And more to come.

Once you stop learning, they might as well bury you.