Dearly beloved....
We are gathered here today to resurrect Taco Therapy, the once well-maintained blog of Meghan E. Earnest, covering hot topics such as pizza and my personal dating misfortunes.
The drought has been long, but your mystical rain dances and prayers have been answered.
Taco Therapy will rise from the ashes like a phoenix and be reborn with wisdom and strength; a strength that creates light and shines bright enough to help, encourage, and inspire you out of your own darkness.
*Quote definitely not taken from a random 15 year old girl's Pinterest board entitled "Tat Ideaz?"*
I came to this decision while I was on a flight back from Chicago. I had been there on a business trip for a couple of days and was eager to get home and finish watching Orange is the New Black #TrustNoBitch.
I was already peeved because Chicago deep dish pizza did NOT live up to my expectations and because our plane had not arrived on time, leaving us with no other option but to stand in line for 40 minutes waiting to board the plane. I took comfort in knowing that I had a window seat (prime location for sleeping) and that the flight had booze (prime libation for flirting with what I dreamed would be the handsome businessman sitting next to me).
Key word: dreamed.
A family of five was making a ruckus by my seat. All of their seats were scattered throughout the plane and they were trying to get people to switch with them so that they could all sit together. The children weren't infants or toddlers?! I would be more sympathetic if they were young, but they were at least 8 years old and up and fully equipped with Ipads and Upads and whatever other technologies are hot these days, so the fact that this charade was delaying my departure, and perhaps more importantly my booze delivery, was unacceptable.
It took another 10-15 minutes before the situation was finally sorted out. Naturally I was the lucky passenger who got to sit next to kid #1 of 3. I swear to the old gods and the new that this child came directly from Hades himself. She had a laugh not unlike that of one of those creepy doll horror movies. I was immediately terrified, not only for myself, but for the other passengers, not knowing what our fate might be with Lucifer on board.
The situation worsened when "Lucy" started leaning over me, her bony little body basically in my lap, so that she could take pictures of our plane.... on the tarmac....not moving....at all. She was applying filters and contorting her body so that she could take the perfect shot at any and all angles that you could possibly imagine. I thought to myself, "What are you, some child prodigy photographer?? What could you POSSIBLY be doing with these pictures?? You by God better be submitting these to National Geographic for some amateur photographer award..."
I wanted to look her dead in the eye and pull the blind down, but I thought that was too mean....even for me.
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Real image I secretly took of Lucy on the plane. |
At some point during the trip I thought things were looking up. I had miraculously dozed off and woke up at the EXACT time that the flight attendant was making her snack rounds. She was at our row and everything. Lucy was a little more hype than usual, which I could only assume meant she had gotten into the Fun Dip that her Dad SPECIFICALLY told her not to eat before he fell asleep ... his only sweet release from the warlock to my right.
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Thanks, United. |
Lucy ripped open the bag and spilled her zesty ranch snack mix ALL OVER US. If there was ever a Jesus Take the Wheel moment, this was it. I had the pleasure of flicking cajun corn sticks and ranch soy nuts off my pants, which ultimately left a trace of orange powder on my pants, a residue I am all too familiar with being the nation's #1 Cheeto consumer.
The shade I threw this little girl.....
God took swift action by coming over the speakers to announce we were arriving 10 minutes early. I definitely recall letting out a celebratory "Thank Christ," loud enough for the father to hear in the hope that he would restrain Lucyfer from leaning over/on me for the remainder of the flight.
No such luck. The Manhattan skyline was unfortunately more alluring than the tarmac back in Chicago, so Lucy gave the finger to the fasten seat belt rule and proceed to photograph her way into my zesty ranch powder-covered lap.
I basically tripped over myself running off the plane, making myself suspect to the pilot, flight attendant and other passengers, but was willing to embrace my status on the airline's security screening/no-fly list to get as far away as possible from the Family von Freak.
It was in the Uber ride home that I decided to resurrect Taco Therapy. I hope that you regret my decision as much as I do, but mostly I hope that we can share many more awful and awkward moments together.
- M
