Part Two
Red Sky At Night: Poultry Delight
I had been dating Veggie Burrito for several months and things were going pretty well. She was a cheap date and liked having a good time. A bit hippy for me, but then, hey, she came with free guacamole.
I remember the first time “other” burritos came out in conversation. I casually mentioned the Chicken Burrito and her face instantly froze. To this day I have never seen a gaze as cold as her aluminum foil stare.
“Sorry, babe,” I asked, “Something I said?”
“Chicken Burrito,” she responded flatly.
“Oh that. That’s nothing, babe. It’s just, well, the guys down at the office were talking–”
“I can’t believe you’d even think about getting a burrito without guacamole,” she said.
“I wouldn’t!” I stammered. “It’s just–It’s just–well, I guess I am kind of curious. And plus, if you really want the guac it’s only a $1.40 extra.”
She laughed, a long drawn-out cackle dripping with sarcasm (or was it hot sauce?).
“You’d pay for guacamole? How pathetic are you?”
She had cut me off at the knees but she was right: What was a burrito without guacamole? And since when was I the kind of depraved son-of-a-bitch that needed to pay for it? I was good looking enough.
She leaned in closer and stopped laughing. “Just so you know, “honey”: if you ever leave me, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Needless to say, something changed in my and Veggie’s relationship that day, something that came to a head a few weeks later when some friends and I were out at a club.
I was dancing out on the floor when a gorgeous blond caught my eye at the bar.
“Who is that?” I asked my friend, gyrating my hips back and forth, putting out the vibe.
“Her? That’s Chicken Burrito.” He leaned in closer, “She’s free range.”
It was all I needed to hear.
In a move inconsistent with my shyness, I walked straight towards her, dodging drunk, dancing couples and waiters with trays as I watched her throw her head back in laughter over a joke, waves of gorgeous blond hair splashing over her petite shoulders.
“Buy you a drink?” I asked.
We fell into smooth conversation, the kind I hadn’t had in years. She laughed constantly, her beautiful eyes shimmering as I struggled to keep mine from wandering over the rest of her body. Even from a glimpse I could tell she was everything I wanted: tender, succulent, and not the least bit pretentious. I don’t know if it was the Coronas or her perfect smile, but before I could contain myself I had leaned in and brushed the tin foil back from her face, my hand softly grazing her cheek.
Her skin was smooth–almost flowery, and her scent intoxicating. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I have to ask: Fresh tomato?”
She smiled coyly, “I guess you’ll just have to find out.”
Chicken and I have been together for several years now, but yesterday I went back to Chipotle to see Veggie for the first time since we broke up. Chicken and I have an open door policy–honesty is paramount–so while a bit reluctant, she was willing to let me go if it was what I needed to completely move beyond Veggie Burrito.
I felt a little shy asking for her when I ordered, and noticed the guy in line behind me smirk when I said the word, “veggie.” I sat down with her but something just didn’t feel right. I mean, the guac was nice but all I could think about the whole time was Chicken.
I rushed home directly afterwords and found her laying on the couch, wrapped in a freshly pressed tortilla. I burst into tears as she drew me in close, comforting me.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed.
“It’s OK, honey. It’s over, now.”
-Wetzler
Next on Where’s Wetzler?:
Wetzler Risks Un-Unemployment: A Job Interview at Barnes and Noble
This entry was written by , posted on November 25, 2008 at 4:40 pm, filed under Chipotle and tagged chicken burrito, Chipotle, true love, veggie burrito. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.