Bonjour

Watcha up to, Bee?

Nothin' much. Takin' a wee break from factoring polynomials. Thought I'd finally start this blog.

On a Tuesday afternoon?

I've been mentally composing this post since Saturday.

What happened Saturday?

John and I saw the Richard Serra show at MoMA.

Nice. Anything else?

Bought a new hair turban, since my old one had gotten smelly.

And?

Oh, and my world changed forever.

In what sense?

Let's just say, it's momentous.

Little bundle of joy momentous?

GUACAMOLE momentous.

???

John decided he eats guacamole. After nearly seven years together. After almost four years of marriage. After close to four years in New York, far removed from any really really good guacamole and its luscious companion, queso.

We stopped at Chipotle on our way to MoMA, and as we stood at the cashier, preparing to fork over more than $20 for a fast-food brunch, I spotaneously blurted out a request for the modestly-priced tub-o-guac. I'd had it once with M on the occasion of her introduction to Chipotle, but never since. The "entree" is always enough for me, no sides needed. But it was a gorgeous day, and gorgeous days still mean margaritas on the "new" deck at the just-north-of-campus Trudy's, and since that isn't happening anytime soon, I indulged my inner Austinite. Guacamole...

We found ourselves a stainless steel booth in the nearly-empty seating area and got down to business with the salty-limey chips John ordered: John dunking in salsa, yours truly scooping up creamy green goodness. Even though I love guacamole, I don't indulge often, because I don't like eating a whole serving by myself.

That's right: for the entirety of our life together, John has been anti-guacamole. He has even claimed to be "allergic" to avocados. He will go so far as to request it be left off a dish, so he does not have to look at it and so that it does not "contaminate" (his words, not mine) other elements of the meal.

So what am I to think when after a few chips, John busts out with:

"I think I may be ready to give guacamole another chance."

And just like that, he did. And then he proceeded to eat half my tub-o-guac.

And he ate some more on Sunday, when he stopped at Chipotle to pick up lunch on his way to the office. And he chased the silky green dragon again last night when he worked late and ordered in from another area burrito joint.

Do you think maybe he's seeing another woman? A woman who has introduced him to new and exotic pleasures? A woman named Rosa or Carmen, with long dark hair and her own personal molcajete?

Molca-what?

Look it up!

Um, Bee... Will all of your posts be in pretend dialogue format? And about guacamole?

Oh, let's hope not.