Scenes from a Mexican Restaurant

Friday night, A and I were hoping to meet up with my sister, who is shipping out to San Diego this week for whatever the next phase in her training is. I have to admit a small bit of envy, as she's going to be in warmer climes much sooner than her big brother, who will have to wait until mid-January to be somewhere where it isn't shitty cold. Not that I mind the cold, I'm just looking forward to taking a real vacation.

Because of the hostage situation downtown, the trains weren't running, so she couldn't come down from Great Lakes, but A and I went to dinner anyways, and my favorite local restaurant, with the best margaritas I've had in the city of Chicago. This trip marked the first time we have ordered margaritas. We sat down, looked over the menu, and she said "pitcher of margaritas?" I, naturally, answered in the positive, then a moment of silent tension fell across the table, as both of us made inquisitive faces at each other and said, almost at the same time:

"Frozen or on the rocks?"

I swear, that somewhere in the distance, I heard the whistled theme to The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly. I swear a tumbleweed rolled through the restaurant and out the door. I swear, a couple at another table looked our direction, froze in panic, then upended their table and hid behind it. Because I always wear black, I must be the bad guy, so I drew first:

"On the rocks, of course."

Three of those five words defined what is, be definition, a fledgling relationship. A smile broke across her face, and a sigh of relief came right after. The waiter nervously approached the table and asked for our drink orders. "A pitcher of margaritas on the rocks please."

It might not be much of a hurtle to overcome, folks, but keep in mind, we are two very different people. We had a similar moment yesterday afternoon, as we were rushing out to my friend's 40th birthday party. I asked if I should pick up fries or onion rings with lunch. "Onion rings- I hate their fries."

Well now, ain't we a pair?