Flour or Corn Tortillas, Senorita?

By: beckylitwiller1

Flour or Corn Tortilla, Senorita?

            As I sat jam-packed into a bright orange vinyl booth at Si Casa Flores, a true happiness began to warm me from my toes up. After scanning the menu, I quickly concluded nothing on the menu could satisfy my taste buds quite like the steak fajitas could. After having ordered the hot and steamy entre, I leaned back comfortably and let the sound of family conversation fill my ears. “This is the life,” I thought. However, ordering the fajitas would turn out to be a recipe for disaster.

At last, the waitress appeared behind the double doors with my fajitas! She set the many plates of food down and my family began to dole out the food eagerly. In his excitement, my brother made a dastardly mistake. His faux pas caused the scene of my happy family to change to a more realistic one, an unhappy family. In passing the plate of fiery hot fajitas my way, he accidentally shoved it off the table and onto my lap. With the heat of the onions, jalapeños, and steak scalding my bare arms and legs, I began to scream violently. My overreaction was the result of my pain receptors being heightened to the “big fat baby” level when injured, as it is with any eight-year-old.

After the incident, what ensued was nothing short of normal. A loud and large argument erupted between my brother vs. the rest of my family, and I had no choice but to watch it unfold. In my child-like mind, I blamed myself for being foolish enough to order such a hot dish and cursed myself for causing the future onion-shaped scar on my wrist to appear. Although my brother was unjustly criticized for his accidental blunder, we did not let it ruin the meal. I calmed down and was given cold rags for my arms and legs while the argument drew to a close.

It may have just been Si Casa Flores’ electricity flickering, but it seemed that a fluorescently lit light bulb went off over my head. It dawned on me the magnificent capacity for forgiveness there can be within a family. A hot plate of food was dropped onto a child’s lap, and a ruckus followed that was intent on reporting my brother to the galleys for the crime he was to be charged. However, after apologizing and informing me that I was a “fluff brained ninny” for not having a cloth napkin on my lap, all was forgiven fifteen minutes later. The meal continued as it had right before the fajitas had showered my lower body with its innards. I ordered another 7-up and then returned to my position jammed up against the wall, a little less happy, but happy nonetheless.

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