Wednesday, May 20, 2009
 | So for lunch today I ate half of a chicken quesadilla. Why half, you ask? Well, it is because I was afraid to go on. This really pisses me off. Why? Because quesadillas are supposed to be SAFE for EVERYONE. When I bite into one, I know what I am getting: chicken, cheese, spice, tortilla, onion and peppers. When I luxuriate in the cafe for 30 blissful minutes, savoring every morsel, I should not have to worry about being assaulted. My ability to eat in peace has been shattered forever. Everything was going along just fine. Had my 'Dilla, my coffee (the elixir of life) and a napkin (because I am refined and my pants were already dirty enough). I take a bite and the thrilling familiarity rushes over me. Then another bite...I am remembering why I am alive......and THEN (please insert screeching automobile tires/brakes here) A CUCUMBER....in one of the 2 places where a cucumber should never go.....I spit out the offending cucurbit into my only napkin and continue bravely and cautiously with my afternoon meal. Bites three and four are without incident and then, just as my confidence had returned......a GRAPE! (OK, half a grape, but a grape nonetheless). I put down the remainder of my lunch next to the pitiful remains of my napkin, angrily drank my coffee and plotted the death of the person who decided to use "floor sweepins" instead of chicken. From now on, I'll timidly approach the quesadilla as though it is a land mine covered in scrap metal. Each time I make my purchase, it will feel like the green mile. I will warily eye my surroundings just like I do at our hillbilly family reunions in Oklahoma, when they (Once AGAIN) elect me to be the "Lawn Dart Catcher." There should be no surprises in Quesadilla-Land, dammit! |
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