This morning we went to my favorite local breakfast spot: The Eye Opener. It is one of those businesses that remains because the people in the community call it their second home. I could go there in my bathrobe and slippers and they would think anything of it. For the record I’m going off theory here. This writer girl does not go out in public, unless under extreme stress in her pj’s.
Anyway, they have a salsa that I crave. The owner is Greek, the food is traditional American, and that salsa shames some of the stuff I’ve eaten at Mexican food restaurants. Compared to this stuff, the salsa at the Mexican food restaurants is ketchup. It isn’t hot, there is some secret spice that I love to eat, but can’t discern. So my only recourse is to keep on going back for more. But that was not the eye opener I got this morning.
I don’t know about other writers, but a quirk I learned from Michael Crichton is to eat the same thing. He said it allowed him to be creative with his writing if he didn’t have to think about what he was going to eat. Crazy as it sounds it works. And, today is writing day, so the food was supposed to be predictable.
I got my usual. Eggs scrambled hard with cheese, grits with bacon and white toast. The bacon goes in the grits. The eggs are swimming in that delectable salsa and the toast gets margarine and jelly.
Today however, the salsa dispenser was clogged. I could see the piece of diced jalapeno holding back the spice of my dreams. A normal person would have used a fork or a toothpick, any kind of tool, to dislodge it and embark upon their eating adventure. But everybody knows, Mrs. B is not normal. I thought if I put just a little more pressure and shook the bottle it would change the direction of the spice and all would be good in the world. I thought those exact words in my head.
Obviously, I did not take physics. That little bit of pressure and that little shake was more than was necessary. In less than a second, salsa had painted my white polo shirt. In case you were wondering, don’t google image that. There are some gross images out there. The splat was fast. It didn’t even have time to go slo mo in my mind. And, the hubby didn’t have a chance to hold back his very loud exclamation, “WHOA!”
I had a choice, get upset with that piece of diced jalapeno or laugh. So you don’t think I’m one of those overly optimistic types. I had to think. Get mad at the jalapeno and get a stomach ache, or laugh and write a blog about it.
There was no point in being mad. Remember the first part in the story where I said I could walk in there in my pj’s and nobody would think anything of it. Well they didn’t budge when they saw a yellling husband sans the basketball game on a big screen t.v.. And they didn’t point and laugh as his wife had chunks of salsa fall off her shirt when she walked to the bathroom.
Surprises happen! Thank the Lord this one was one I could laugh about. And, the best part! I have an excuse to do two of my favorite hobbies-writing and then some shopping.