Yesterday was my Dad's birthday and we picked up take-out from his favorite Mexican restaurant. I ordinarily would not get take-out from a regular restaurant, but it's a favorite so I took the chance. I should have known better.
My father does not eat cheese and I let the restaurant know three times that cheese can't be on his food. There wasn't any cheese on his enchilada or beans, but there was cheese all over his taco. Of course there was.
While we were waiting for our meals to be up, I grabbed my husband's hand. I was planning on kissing it so I quickly dipped my head down. Unfortunately, he raised his hand up at the same time. The resulting contact left me with a bloodied mouth.
I sometimes have an odd sense of humor, so bear with me if this doesn't tickle your funny bone.
I ran to the restroom and cleaned up my mouth as well as I could. By the time I finished, our meals were ready and my husband was paying for dinner. He felt bad and apologized while we were in the car.
I started laughing and said, "What's this? My father is sick and my only brother is dead so you think this means you can get away with popping me in the mouth?"
He laughed too, "Aw, Honey, you know it was an accident."
"Does hitting a woman in the mouth make you feel like a big man?"
We both cracked up like a couple of mental patients. Yeah, yeah, abuse isn't funny, but this struck me as hilarious. I think my parents thought we were weirdos for chuckling about it long after we arrived back at their house.
Naturally, the spiciness of the salsa and and saltiness of the food stung like heck and my lip still hurts today. However, it was a really nice night with my folks and I think they enjoyed having our company.