When my husband, expert taste-tester of all fast food, suggested we try a new restaurant in DC called The Cereal Bowl, I immediately nixed the idea.
Several reasons: first of all, my sister the accountant has a firm rule that the road to poverty is paved with eating out. Has this stopped us? No. But at least I put each eating out decision through a fine mesh screen of analysis, preference and cost-benefit analysis. The result has been that we are eating out far less than we used to, thereby saving money. And cereal as a special restaurant food doesn't cut it. My husband says we just torture ourselves every time we decide to go out to eat, in addition to eating out.
"We can eat cereal at home!" I cried, clutching the checkbook. "Here, let's get three more boxes."
And then I saw an announcement on the neighborhood listserv that The Cereal Bowl was hosting World Cup games in a family-friendly environment. At last! A place where my husband can eat overpriced fast food and where I can watch the World Cup.
My husband is not into sports, for which I am so grateful. He is even less into soccer, but considers the fans brighter than average.
"Honey, I love you, and if you want to watch the World Cup, I will go with you." And eat cereal. These are the compromises from which marriages are made.