Wednesday, July 20, 2016

The Taquito Bandito

Last week, the #1 son came home to pick up his tent. No, he hasn't decided to chuck the whole computer engineering thing and join the circus. It's not a Big Top tent, but a tiny two-man camping tent. Green. He needs it for the great solar car race that he left for today. Left for. With five vehicles, not counting the semi truck that hauls the solar car when it's not sunning down the highway.

#1 said he'd only be here long enough to grab his tent and sleeping bag. I talked him into getting my new phone ready, but that's a story you'll have to read elsewhere. He came in the house to deal with the phone, and noticed the supper that I had prepared for Farmer H. Uh huh. The seven-course gourmet repast fit for a king. Heh, heh.

Farmer H is known for passing right through the house when he gets home. In the kitchen door, out the front door. He may or may not speak before he heads outside to commune with his critters, and work on his latest shack project. So supper sits on the stove until he's good and ready. The Pony and I do not wait for him. He's on his own.

On this particular night, I had set aside seven taquitos for Farmer H. The beef taquitos. We like both, but I had just rediscovered them at The Devil's Playground, and freezer space is limited. So I did not get the chicken variety as well.

#1 got to sniffing around the kitchen of the Mansion. "Oh! Taquitos!" Let the record show that even back when he lived here, and we had a regular meal of taquitos with actual side dishes, he did not partake. Funny how living on one's own, spending one's own (parentally-saved college fund) money for food, leads one to try different dishes.

"Do you want one? Dad will never know how many were there."

"Yeah. Maybe two..."

"Oh, just take them all. I can put more in the oven for him."

"Okay. If you're sure..."

Yes, I was sure. Sure that #1 would be eating one taquito, then two, then three...and even Farmer H knows that I don't just leave him four or fewer taquitos for his supper. They are small! Thus the name, taquito.

It's not exactly like Lou Grant having his way with Veal Prince Orloff at Mary's dinner party. When Mary pointed out in the kitchen that Mr. Grant had taken three slices. HALF! And told him to put some back. Nope. Not exactly like that, because #1 took 100% of the taquito meal. Not just half.

Don't go hatin' on Mrs. Hillbilly Mom for her title. Back in the day, when Li'l Future Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was coming up, such a title was not frowned upon. Not seen as offensive. Just ask the red-or-green-or-blue rubber pencil-top erasers Li'l Future Mrs. Hillbilly Mom got out of her snack pack carton of Fritos. The erasers in the likeness of The Frito Bandito.

And if you have a problem with that, you can take it up with my drunken slob friend the Hawaiian Punch man.


Sioux said...

Ai, yay yay yay.

I am the Frito Bandito.

Give me your corn chips
and I'll be your friend.

The Frito Bandito
you must not offend.

(Did I imagine this on commercials?)

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yeah. I think you imagined a part of it...

Now, as long as you don't sing the Nair short-shorts commercial, we'll be fine.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I remember the Frito Bandito!

Hillbilly Mom said...

And probably the short-shorts as well!

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Yes, I do remember short shorts. I currently have a resident here who has a love of the short shorts. She is, shall we say, quite a hefty girl with a large butt (Kim Kardashian). She must have help getting theses shirts on, because they are too small, causing the very short legs to ride up her butt. She seems to think this is attractive and she also wears very tight shirts that ride up to reveal a roll of fat hanging over the waist of the shorts. There have been many complaints about her appearance. I am not the fashion police, though. Maybe I should just tell her that there is a fine line between form fitting and sausage casing ....

Hillbilly Mom said...

Do you sell BRAIN BLEACH in your store? Because I need to order it from you online, to rid myself of that image. The only thing more disturbing is what I saw in Poolio on Saturday...