Earlier in the week, I was invited by friends to enjoy some freshly concocted tacos for dinner. I had to turn down the invitation then due to previously arranged plans, but ended up at the same house, eating leftovers the night after. Visions of (not sugarplums) beef, cheese, beans danced in my head upon a fresh crispy shell. Tacos, the food that comes in plurals...Tacos, the food you can eat in layers....Tacos, even your name sounds crunchy and crispy and oh so yummy. I open the refrigerator door with one sound in my head: that smacking sound nerdy people make when they are hungry. Searching for the tacos, searching for the tacos. Chili beans, check. Avocados, check. Tomatoes & lettuce, check. (I'm not going to say Cheese, check, because it's hard to say – but it was there man!)
Hunt for the crispy, melt in your mouth, hot off the press & the dress, TACO SHELLS.
Same toppings as a burrito, but not.
Not...
Not....
NOT.....No Taco Shells to be found!
Nothing to carefully cradle the contents of my Mexican-American fiesta food. Just burrito shells...
So I ate it, and it was really quite scrumptious.
The End
PS: I wonder what Chewie would have done if he wanted a taco shell, but had to settle for a burrito shell? He'd probably rip some Tuskan Raider arms off. That's what I would do.
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