So we headed to our favorite Mexican dive and, color us surprised, we found that the strip mall had set up one-way traffic to accommodate the dual bands (complete with warbling singers) entertaining the crowds inside, the card tables outside, and the throngs of people milling around the parking lot, drink in hand, waiting for a table.
B and I considered joining the wait list, as we heard the woman bellow "FORTY FIVE!" But then we noticed that others were holding numbers up into the 70s. And should I mention that we've never waited for a table at this festive joint?
Instead, we decided to go full-on Southern and call in our order from the parking lot (three soft chicken tacos and a number sixteen, por favor), then hit the bar to get margaritas. We tried to go sit on our tailgate but the cops (there for crowd control) said we had to stay close to the restaurant. Easy fix. I moved the car to the front spot, popped the tailgate, and we drank to our hearts' content.
The conundrum came when our meal was ready. Do we drive home? That's no fun. Plus we had our margaritas to think about. So instead, I grabbed the take-out bag and we had a full-on tailgate picnic (adult-style) in the tailgate of my Murano right in front of the cops, who gave us props for "Most Creativity." Amazingly, following the margarita consumption right in front of them, they let us drive away. I mean, we'd only had one each and had definitely indulged in a heavy dinner, so there was no swerving involved, but still. It felt bad. Dangerous. B thinks I need to get out more.
Tomorrow morning we head home. I can't wait!