The other night my husband and I had an interesting discussion over dinner. I’ll admit, I was the one who brought it up, but it was still interesting: If you were on death row, what would you choose as your last meal?

Without much hesitation (although, I personally think a bit more thought should go in to such a huge decision), my husband blurts out, “My mom’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes!” Hmm, very interesting. I was a bit pissed off. Yes, her chicken is very good, although technically it’s not fried. It’s pan-fried, not deepfried. Anyway, it’s good. However, what’s wrong with any of my meals? I could definitely kick some ass in a lasagna competition, and I do believe my BBQ ribs are outstanding. And another thing – his mom’s mashed potatoes are not even real! I make real mashed potatoes – even my mother-in-law raves about them. It’s the gravy she puts on them – that’s why everyone likes them. Gravy.

I’m still debating about my last meal – there are just so many choices. I’m leaning toward enchiladas, but then I start thinking about a really good hotdog from Portillos. And some onion rings. Oh yeah, and a Coke. Usually I would skip dessert, but since this is my last meal, I’d have something with chocolate in it. It doesn’t matter if it gives me a raging migraine, because I’d be dead not long after eating. In fact, if the migraine is bad enough, I might just ask them to put me to death sooner…

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