I’ll take a burrito bowl, he said.
My internal record scratched. The *FUCK*, I yelled out loud. The burrito warmer looked up from her tacos. Families glared. In the distance, the ice machine shat more ice. After an awkward smile and apologizing glances all around, I hissed out the corner of my mouth when in the history of ever have you not ordered a full-on burrito?!
Unfazed, he shrugged. Just thought maybe I’d try something new.
Something new!? You’re getting a burrito BOWL. You. HERE.
I was approaching hysterics.
I heard you get more meat when you get the bowl. I tried it last week, it was pretty good.
BUT YOU GET ZERO TORTILLA!! I shrieked. YOU’VE DONE THIS BEFORE?!
The staff member in charge of the salsa was growing impatient, as was the line behind me. I shook my head and went through the motions of my reliable-assed order of a burrito.
Is this how other women know their husbands are cheating?
The straw that broke.
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