It’s Monday. I’ve been feeling pretty bleh again, so I dug deep and the closest thing I could find to a Dose of Happy was tacos. Not special tacos or gourmet tacos, just tacos.
Last night I was minding my own business, not wanting to make dinner because I had a headache, and Mister E suddenly said we should have tacos. I absolutely adore tacos, so it really wasn’t hard to convince me that we needed to have them.
I’m half Mexican, so when I was a kid we had tacos and enchiladas, tostadas and tamales, all kinds of lovely things at my grandmother’s house and – very rarely – at home. Even The Dad, who if you had to put his heritage on display is German/Native American (but he just says he’s a white guy), loves to have tacos whenever he can. He hates guacamole, though, for reasons I do not understand. For the longest time I thought everyone had tacos at their house with regularity. Imagine my surprise and dismay when I started hanging around real kids – not my imaginary friends or Thundercats figures – and found out that people ate ham and brisket on holidays.
Anyhow, he disappeared for about fifteen minutes and returned with a big bag containing two lovely tacos for me and a small order of the messiest bean and cheese nachos you will ever encounter. Since we don’t have the money to eat out much and I try to keep away from sodium, we don’t get these things often and I’m going to say that the grease-and-salt coma that overtook me later was actually worth it. Trust me, these were damn good tacos.
Do you have an equally gluttonous dose of happy? Or possibly one that is less Bacchanalian? Head over to Band Back Together and tell us all about it!