At first I thought I was with child. My stomach was growing, I was having some mild nausea, occasional heartburn, and mood swings. “How glorious!” I thought, “a new life, so wonderful.” But, unfortunately, I was mistaken. After several extremely reliable scientific tests, I discovered that the newly minted belly was not the result of the miracle of life, but something much more sinister…
What is this taco baby, you might ask? From whence does it hail? What is its purpose? I have no clear answers. I can only surmise that this is some kind of foodoo (food + voodoo). When I first got here, my Caucasiveness was overwhelming; no one could handle my blinding whiteness. So the townspeople got together and determined that the best way to deal with me was to absorb me into the general population. Best way to do this? Via food.
They’ve tempted me with a vast array of new and exciting (sometime frightening) treats. Barbacoa, torta, menudo, all this and much more has been included my daily diet. Before I knew it, I was carrying the spawn of Mexas foodstuffs: the taco baby. And the more I feed it, the hungrier it gets. The worst part is that it’s beginning to leech onto the other members of the household.
(But, as you can see clearly here, Cay still retains some of her blinding whiteness.)
We’ve commenced with strategic planning to rid ourselves of this menace. Hubs is running more often, Cay and I started walking. We purged the apartment of sweets yesterday (a whole jar of little candies, a huge family size bag of dark chocolate M&Ms, and freezer-Snickers bars were just some of the victims). We’ve begun investigating different eating plans, and are refining a permanent change (something between macrobiotic, vegetarian, and organic, but with some meats still included because, let’s face it, none of us are going to stick to a steak-free diet).
We shall overcome! Tacos shall not defeat us!
*There will eventually be an “after” post. But not before a long and heart-wrenching struggle. Mark my words.