Why? Cause I love it.
What? You think LOVE is too strong of a word to use to express my feelings?
In fact, I am so overwhelmed with feelings of love right now, I am going to try to express them through poetry.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning had her Portugese Sonnet.
Friends and Family, here is Stephanie LD Cannon's Mexican (food) Sonnet:
Oh, Mexican Restaraunts, why do I love thee? Let me name the ways:
I love thee because you cover every edible item in cheese.
I love thy tuba music as it goes "BER...BER..BER..."
I love thee because your menu provides me 20,056 dining options (although really they are all the exact same thing, just put together differently.) But I still love thy ILLUSION of options.
I love thee because you are cheap as dirt.
I love thy classy murals.
I love thy sequin-clad workers.
I love thy limes, thy outdoor seating and thy cilantro.
Thou leaves me speechless when with thine eyes I see 15 plates stacked from fingertips to neck. I love thy dinner and show.
I love thine literal name translations: "The Rodeo", "The Bull", "The Pepper", "The Bean".
And I love how strange & wonderful I feel when I realize I am saying, "Let's go eat at the bean."
As an exceptionally large-headed individual, I love thy sombreros, for thy make even my gargantuan head seem pea-sized.
Oh, Mexican restaurants, how I love thee.
Need I say more?
Mexican restaurants, like my husband, are just so easy to love.
(Hallmark, if you are reading this, yes you can use that on a greeting card.)
Really, I can only think of one thing about Mexican restaurants that is not so lovable.
And it is a doozie.
When you leave you (which is a sad experience in itself), you smell like you have untamable B.O.
(Perhaps that explains names like "The Rodeo".)
In the past, after returning home from el restaurante, David and I would immediately grab the giant bottle of Febreeze and take turns dousing one another. Remember the cloud that surrounding Pig Pen (in Charlie Brown)? Imagine the two of us surrounded by a similar cloud of Vanilla/Lavender freshness. (And angels are also singing--add that to your imagining.)
But lately the Febreeze, just ain't cuttin' it.
So last night after a trip to Los Three Amigos (why not Tres, I will never know) David and I made a beeline to. . .not the Febreeze. . . but the washing machine. Instantly we started shredded off our B.O. soaked clothes. Let me correct that. Not only clothes. ANYTHING made of fabric that could have possibly absorbed the body odor stinch.
My head band. Socks. Dave's shoes. Los pantalones. My purse. The hat that was in my purse.
All of it.
We had to purge that stomach-turning, horrific SMELL.
Later as we lay in bed, I thought to myself, "Oh my gosh. When we have kids, they are going to think these things (ie going out to dinner and then coming home and stripping naked as a jay bird so that the smell does not transfer into the house) are NORMAL."
And that thought scares me WAY MORE than the threat of having Mexican B.O.