Hats at the Table

Tonight, we went about our business of crumbling the fabric of society. We went to our favorite Mexican restaurant- Taqueria Mexico. It’s located in Waltham, Massachusetts. The food is made by- gasp- real Mexican immigrants who have a made a life for themselves in the city.



And it is so good. The beef for tacos is made with potatoes- no skillet fried beef but long simmered, flavorful and not greasy. The two kinds of salsa brought to the table are homemade as are the chips- still hot from the fryer. I hate faux Mexican food served at fast food chains or even larger, well-known chains where there are tablecloths and “authentic” music blared over the speakers.

I can’t help it. My wife is second generation Mexican American and after one taste of real enchiladas, I was never the same.

We sat outside and… Jeanine allowed Zachary to keep his hat on at the table.



The first thing that goes is manners. Shameful.

I caught Ben mid-major-eye roll. He rolled his eyes so far up and down his entire body went along with them.



Jake, after his lunch of sushi (you think I’m kidding? The kid has sushi for lunch three times a week), plowed through his burrito, half of Jeanine’s tamales, and shared a few of Ben’s nachos.




I see his size seven pants an inch shorter on him by morning.

All in all, another quiet evening of ruining America and American values as we know it. Pushing hard against the boundaries of society, we continue to flaunt our queer family out in public.

With hats on at the table.