Her Ladyship

Notes from the gutter.

Monday, February 06, 2006


My home's natural state of bliss may be on a shaky foundation.

Today's Washington Post had an article about how picky today's daters are. Using Seinfeld's excuse about a woman having "man hands" as an example of the near-impossible level of perfection some people claim they want, the author talks about the moment where, for a reason you can't quite put your finger on, the person you're dating is just not going to work out. She calls it "the taquito moment" (from a health nut who cited his date's love for 7-11's taquitos as his reason for giving her walking papers).

Um, what's wrong with frozen taquitos? I LOVE them. I serve them at parties, to great acclaim I might add (unless everyone's been pulling faces behind my back and whispering, "for god's sake, where'd you dump those horrible taquitos Her Ladyship keeps plying us with?"). I buy them by the case: in fact, I have 25 of the little suckers waiting for me right now in my freezer.

Should I be worried that The Texan is going to have an honest-to-god taquito moment in the near future? I'd better force him to eat one, pronto, so that he can see I'm not insane and acknowledge that these frozen taquitos are heavily-processed and overly-salted slices of heaven.


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