It's time we had a serious talk about chili

There is something that has been bothering me more as I have gotten older. No, it's not typical old man stuff like electric scooters on the sidewalks, or those mobile bass machines disguised as cars that vibrate everything within fifty yards of them. And I no longer keep a lawn that gives me a chance to yell at the neighborhood kids to get the hell off of it.

This one is important, and come to find out, it matters to plenty of people. 

About five years ago, during an innocent what-are-we-having-for-dinner conversation with my wife, I became aware of the most disturbing thing. She believes chili, the food, the American staple, has a season. What!? Does that mean there is an off-season? Come to find out, in my house, after being married for several years, the apparent ridiculous answer to that ridiculous question is "yes."

Since becoming aware of her oppressive perspective, I have noticed a tension, an unexplainable sadness in the household every year. It begins in mid-spring and lasts until September.  Until she confessed to covertly enforcing a season I didn't know existed, I couldn't identify the problem. 

It is a disagreement that is immune to my renowned Aristotelian talent of persuasiveness. 

So, I decided to take my plight to the streets. Surely, I could find people to back me up here. I asked the question, "Is there a chili season?" on a couple of the social platforms, and the answers surprised me.

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