I couldn’t order a taco or even say the word. The old ladies had forever ruined my favorite Mexican treat with their litany of vaginal terms, including my favorite, the dreaded love taco . . . hair pie wasn’t far behind. I ordered a burrito and some chips and salsa. I wondered if Mitch liked Mexican. I realized there were so many things I had yet to discover . . . and I couldn’t wait. Everyone else in the van ordered tacos. The irony was almost too much to bear. Rich ordered ten. I blanched inwardly and realized the talk about nutrition was going to have to come sooner rather than later. “I think the cabin feels spooky with the windows all boarded up,” Boo said. “I don’t like it.” “Do you get a bad vibe?” Kim asked, concerned. “It doesn’t work that way. I feel nothing from objects, only people.” “What are you dumb-ass idiots, bless your hearts, blabbering about?” Edith asked, shoving a taco into her mouth. I supposed she was hungry. She’d missed lunch due to her covert tree swinging and trap setting.
What do You think about Size Matters (Handcuffs And Happily Ever Afters)?
