This is the very image of happiness, what some would call a shit-eating grin:
This is Eliza savoring her favorite–I’m not exaggerating–her favorite thing to eat. That’s right. More than anything else in the world, Eliza loves veggie burritos from Willy’s in Atlanta. Every time we go back, she insists on eating there twice. It’s an utter mystery to me.
It’s not that Willy’s is bad. It’s just unremarkable. In fact, aren’t all burritos unremarkable? Isn’t a burrito what you get when there’s nothing else around? Isn’t a burrito pretty much the epitome of settling? Here’s the burrito thought process: Well, I didn’t bring lunch to work and I can’t have real Mexican food because there’s nothing near here, and I shouldn’t eat a burger because it’ll put me to sleep, but I need something quick…
…I guess I’ll just get a burrito.
That’s why we get burritos, right? Because there’s nothing else. We’re certainly not excited about it. And when are forced to eat burritos, we get meat on them, right? (Preferably double meat, am I wrong?)
But perhaps on a deeper level, what’s concerning about this is what it says about me. If my wife loves veggie burritos, does she love guys who are like veggie burritos? Does she settle? (I’ve always thought of myself as more of a double cheeseburger.)
But hey, if it puts a shit-eating grin on her face, maybe eating shit isn’t such a bad thing after all.