August 31st, 2008
My wife decided that we were to go out for Mexican food. There's a quaint family run Mexican eatery just up the hill a bit from our home that was picked for the occasion. It's a quiet little place that serves some serious Mexican food and doesn't skimp on the servings at a very reasonable price.
My wife and I both ordered the same dish, a beef enchilada meal with beans and rice. There had been a family of five that had entered shortly after we got there. The father was carrying a girl that looked to be about 5 or 6. I was thinking she was just waking up from a nap. She was very relaxed, slumped over the Father's shoulders. They walked past me and entered in to the deeper parts of the building. We were closer to the front entrance and I was facing out on a lovely expanse of jet black Asphalt, white lines and some great beat up cars. Plus the occasional child stopping to gawk at the crazy white people (us) eating in a Mexican restaurant, peering through their little hands cupped against the plate glass window as they walked past the facility. So cute. Get a move on already. Eww, don't pick your ...
Well the food finally showed up and it was amazing. A large, hot, oval plate of deliciousness that was smelling fantastic. The beef was seared, tender and full of flavor wrapped in fresh tortillas with a mild, very flavorful sauce, red rose in color that stood out well from the china white plate it sat on.
Enchilada dinner.
Anyway, I decided for some strange reason to pepper the conversation with a lovely little story about a post I had read at a fellow Entrecarders blog, Monkey Fables And Tales, This post regaled how he had bought a dozen flowers, daffodils to be exact, from a nearby store manager, after her breasts had talked him into buying the flowers.
Yes, her breasts. I was wondering why it was that I began this sorted tale, but once I got started, it was kind of like a train wreck. I just kept on going and explaining about how he had referred to her breasts as a bakery item, uhm, muffins to be exact, and how I tried, barely, to keep from laughing, again, for I though it quite humorous the first time I read it. I mean I was rollin', guffawing and snorting loudly as he explained in some sorted detail about how her clothing accentuated her, uhm, female attributes and ... well, you had to be there.
So, I am trying to make it interesting for my wife, and she is looking at me with with an amused look on her face, placating me as she is apt to do when I am talking about some thing foolish and dangerous and might just get me into a world of trouble if I cross some imaginary line.
I love living on the edge.
Part 1 of 2
A lovely quiet dinner, until ...
Posted by Beamer at 12:46 PMThis entry was posted on 12:46 PM and is filed under blogging, Internet, Living in California, rice, Ta ta's, websites . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
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6 comments:
It is a wonder that you and i do not get smacked by our better halfs. For pullint the stuff we do. Me I just do not write about it.
lol
I'm lucky in the fact My wife doesn't read my blog.
Thanks Mike.
mine does not care to read mine as well. nor does she see the comments I make.
My wife has finally branched out past the bank account and the e-mail to Hulu and the like. She likes it that she can get caught up on her soap operas.
Beamer
Sordid tale, Beamer -- SORDID tale.
Mike's blog is full of SORDID tales! But they ARE fun to read :)
Not that I had to look up the word sordid or anything:
Main Entry:
sor·did Listen to the pronunciation of sordid
Pronunciation: \ˈsȯr-dəd\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Latin sordidus, from sordes dirt — more at swart
Date: 1606
1: marked by baseness or grossness : vile (sordid motives)
2 a: dirty, filthy b: wretched, squalid
3: meanly avaricious : covetous
4: of a dull or muddy color
Glad to see I'm in good company.
Beamer
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