So about a month ago I decided that I needed to eat Mexican food or I would die after physically harming every living creature within 75 miles. I might have been a little premenstrual. Or a lot, whatever.
I love Mexican food. When I want to feel like a kid again, it’s my go to meal. I was lucky enough to be raised with a Mexican extended family. Like, REAL Mexican. Not that Americanized crap you get in a restaurant with premade tortillas and rice from a mix. Enchiladas made with love, mole made with 84 ingredients and simmered ALL DAY LONG then eaten with a batch of tortillas made fresh that day with REAL ACTUAL LARD from a tub. Real Mexican food is made with tubs of lard. TUBS OF LARD, PEOPLE.
Ben: Why do you want Mexican food?
Me: I don’t WANT Mexican food, I need it.
Me: Don’t look at me like that. LOOK AT MY OVARIES!
Ben: You are going to feel like shit later.
Me: No I won’t. Mexican food is MAGIC.
Ben: Yes, stomach aches are magic.
Ben: Endless bathroom trips.
We ended up getting Mexican food. Before I put my fork down the magic stomach ache started. As we were leaving the restaurant I started to blame Ben for allowing me to make such a stupid, estrogen driven decision. WHAT WAS HE THINKING!?
I was up ALL NIGHT LONG. The cramps. And the magic stomach ache.
It was bad.
So the next morning I was up before everybody else which is not something that happens on a weekend. EVER.
Cassidy was walking downstairs as I was sitting on the couch after having spent about 20 agonizing minutes in the downstairs bathroom finally ridding myself of all that lardy Mexican poison. LARD IS POISON, PEOPLE!
Cassidy: *deep breath*
Me: *looks innocent* Dude, sorry. I totally turned the fan on.
Cassidy: Did you make… bacon?
Cassidy: It smells like bacon, did you make breakfast?
Cassidy: I smell bacon!
Me: The only thing I’ve made today is POOP!
Me: I made poop and YOU THINK IT SMELLS LIKE BACON!
Me: HAHAHAHA Mexican food is MAGIC!
For the past month when anybody needs to, you know, do THAT BUSINESS in the bathroom we refer to it as “makin’ bacon” or “I’m going to go make bacon”.
There are three morals to this story:
- Mexican food is MAGIC.
- Teenager are actually CRAZY.
- My poop smells like BACON. Fuck roses, man. BACON!
MAGIC. CRAZY. BACON.
IN ALL CAPS.
Aren’t you glad I blogged now, honey?