when you're ready to eat some tacos

Taco Technique

Every new moon, my family and I celebrate. I know. We’re hippies like that. No, we don’t howl. But we do go out for tacos at our favourite Mexican joint.

Well, truth be told, I go out for tacos. My wife gets a big salad. Like enormous. You’ve never seen a salad like this. We’re talking Seinfeld “big salad.” Anyway, she likes a bite of my taco which, after being in the oven for a bit is burning with the heat of a thousand suns. Doesn’t matter. She wants that taco.

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With amusement, I watch her eat it every single time.

My plate comes to me. I take a bowl, put the hard shell into it and hand it over. She holds the bowl beneath the taco and takes a huge bite. She recoils from the impact of insanely hot, shredded beef hitting her lips, like someone has slapped her in the face with a ping-pong paddle. Even though she is well-aware of how hot this taco is going to be, she’s still surprised by it every time. Her fingers naturally clench as she writhes in pain.

 

They clench around my taco. The shell breaks. The structural integrity of the taco is lost in that moment.

Never one to quit, she goes back for more. Bite number two occurs with less impact, but the same pain. At least she’s used to the temperature by now. However, by now, she’s really just eating “handful of previous taco” as opposed to an actual taco.

The remnants of the taco from which she takes first blood are handed back to me in the bowl, along with a look of remorse and shame.

[insert] the shame of a woman gorging on tacos [/insert]

Why? Why do I allow this to happen to my taco? Because, I love Baby. Baby loves taco. She doesn’t order herself a taco. So, she takes a bite of mine. I’ve insisted she get a taco on the side. She doesn’t want a taco on the side. She wants my taco. That’s love, folks.

 

We’ve been going to this restaurant for about 11 years now. Let me tell you what’s changed about her taco inhalation technique:

Nothing.

She takes the first bite of taco. It’s really hot. She burns her mouth. Recoils in agony. Crunches the taco in her hand. Goes in for the second. Hands back shards of taco in a bowl that I then eat with a fork.

That was her taco technique 11 years ago. That is her taco technique today.

You know what’s changed about my taco technique in 11 years?

I hand her the taco in a bowl.

The Four A’s

  1. Attempt
  2. Analyse
  3. Adjust
  4. Again

Every successful person uses this system whether they know it or not, because every successful person started out as an unsuccessful person and had to fine-tune whatever they were doing in order to reach success.

Period.

Baby has changed nothing, as I said, about her taco-eating experience. Given that she is getting a bite of my taco, regardless, her encounter with it can be considered a runaway success.

Me? I’ve altered a lot. Here is a change log:

 Version 1.1
  1. Baby asks for a bite of my taco.
  2. I get upset because it’s my taco. Not her taco. Tell her ‘no.’
  3. Baby gets upset because I don’t want to share my taco with her; feels unloved.
  4. Night ends poorly.

Try again.

Version 1.2
  1. Baby asks for a bite of my taco.
  2. I still get upset because it’s my taco. Not her taco. Disgruntled, tell her ‘yes.’
  3. Baby gets upset because I don’t want to share my taco with her; feels unloved.
  4. Night ends poorly.

Again.

Version 1.3
  1. Baby asks for a bite of my taco.
  2. I acknowledge, internally, that this isn’t about a taco; that she wants to feel close to me.
  3. Happily, tell her ‘yes.’
  4. Baby is happy; demolishes my taco.
  5. Taco remnants fall to the table beneath her, into he lap, and onto the floor.
  6. Baby uses hands to shovel remaining taco pile back to me.
  7. Baby finishes off approximately 25% of total taco left over on her side of the table after demolition.
  8. I get very little of my taco.
  9. Night ends better than before, but still not exactly ideal.
Version 1.4
  1. Baby asks for a bite of my taco.
  2. I happily agree and hand taco to her in a bowl.
  3. Baby holds bowl under taco as she demolishes it.
  4. Hands bowl back.
  5. I get 100% of taco remnants.
  6. Baby is happy.
  7. I’m happy.
  8. Night ends ideally. (Yes, really ideally.)

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Why not just get her another taco?

Because, dipshit, she doesn’t want a bite of taco. (Well, she does. They’re phenomenal. Who doesn’t want a bite of someone else’s taco?) She wants to know if I love her enough to give her, not only a bite of my taco, but the first bite of my taco, and to appreciate being the only guy in the world that gets her remnants of my taco.

It’s a relationship.

It’s beautiful.

It’s a taco.

PS – The Four A’s work in every aspect of life. Just pick the goal, and attempt to achieve it. If you don’t get it, then analyse what you did, picking out the flaw you’re going to correct. Then, adjust your approach. Try again.

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