The ñoqui scorned.

I told the tale of the ñoquis I slaved over over the course of two nights. How I made the dough and rolled it out... how I cut it and marked each ñoqui individually... how I froze them by the batch on cookie sheets before bagging them. How I had to maneuver like a circus acrobat every time I opened my freezer so that they wouldn’t fall out (they fell out anyway... all over the floor... twice.)
One of the reasons I made so much (other than because I’m a complete idiot) is because I wanted to give Phatty a bag. If someone loves ñoquis it’s Phatty. I kept putting off giving them to her because I wanted to give them to her on a day when she’d be going to straight home so that they wouldn’t defrost. Finally on Thursday I gave them to her. I was so happy... She wasn’t overwhelmingly appreciative of my magnanimous feat but I let it slide for she was unaware of my troubles.
The next day I went over to her house. I opened the refrigerator to get a glass of water and what do I find? I see it there on the bottom shelf a bag of what was once the delightful ñoquis I so diligently prepared. Sitting there helplessly: A a pathetic bag of mush. I say "Gasp! What means this!? Those were supposed to go in the freezer!" The ghastly answer? "Lol, yeah I gave them to BIL and he put them in the refrigerator." Now let me say this: What kind of damn idiot is given a bag of FROZEN ñoquis (or anything frozen, for that matter) and puts them in the refrigerator? Who? Do you know someone like that? Well kill them-lest they breed and populate the earth with their idiocy.
Now I know that I gave them a present and they are free to do whatever with it. If they ruined the ñoquis that's their problem, they are the ones that missed out... but still! I worked hard, damn it!
I got over that... sort of. But THEN BIL called me a few days later. He was going to make the ñoquis... "how do I cook them?" He asked... "Um... just like any other pasta: boil the water and throw them in... except throw them in individually, so they don't stick, and boil them until they float... about 10 minutes" Then he tells me all about how he's re-rolling them. He's "just rolling them again and cutting them and dumping them in the pot." The horror! Cutting them and dumping them in the pot! He has no idea how to handle ñoquis! Have I not made it painfully clear how much of a pain in the ass it is to mark each ñoqui individually? Let me clarify: You have to roll them the right thickness, then you cut them the right dimensions, and then you have to mark them just right on a fork, they can't stick to the fork and once marked you have to dent them just right. It's a freaking art form, one which I've mastered and here he is butchering my masterpieces after having already destroyed them! My heart was torn apart! My head was reeling! I was short of breath! I was sick to my stomach!
Oh but it got worse! He then asks "How do I serve these?" um... with sauce... and some cheese sprinkled on top. "Can I serve them with chili?"
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... Chili? CHILI? CHILI? It was as if he'd asked me if I wanted ketchup on my steak! CHILI ON ÑOQUIS!? Whoever heard of such an offence? The horror! The abomination! The monstrosity! The offence! My head nearly blew up! I needed some smelling salts.
I've decided, however, that I'm going to put it out of my mind and pretend it never happened. It'll be easier on my nervous system.