Ever get a surprise burrito? Not so much in the good, “Oh my gawd thank you so much for this delicious, free burrito!” kind of way, but more in the, “Oh my gawd what is that random, crusty burrito doing there?” kind of way? I have. Not to brag or anything, but my family knows how to do surprises. They are so crafty they even surprise themselves sometimes. Like last week when I unpacked the week-old pool bag that had been sitting in my living room for, well, for an entire week, I got quite the surprise!
There I was, humming away to Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl while pulling soggy, mildewed towels out of an orange, striped pool bag when my hands bumped into something that remarkably felt like tinfoil. Tinfoil? No way, man, couldn’t be, and yet, it was cold, metallic like, and shiny, but also kind of mushy like a stuffed doll leg with an aluminum foil cast on it. You never know at my house. My daughter dresses her dolls in toilet paper. Who am I to judge?
So I reached back into the bag with determined curiosity and pulled out an entire crusty, old, nasty, bean burrito with exactly one bite missing. One bite! Someone took one bite and buried it under flip flops and My Little Pony beach towels. It was rubbing up against a hot-pink flotation device and nestled next to a leaky bottle of 50 spf sunblock for babies. A real, actual burrito! This burrito had been sitting, without refrigeration, during a very hot New Mexican summer, in my living room for over a week. To say it was disgusting was an understatement. I contemplated throwing the entire contents of the bag into the trash.
The really traumatizing part? The pool party we attended did not serve any bean burritos. Oh no, this was a mystery burrito. A burrito from the outer limits. A burrito that magically appeared without warning. A burrito that should not exist, but did indeed exist. So, I did what any mom in my situation would do. I started asking questions. Who does this burrito belong to? How did it get in this bag? Why is it in this bag? Why wasn’t it thrown away? Nobody knew. All I got was a whole lot of, “It wasn’t me.” Lots of shrugging. Lots of frowning. Lots of I-don’t-knowing.
Then, as if on cue, my husband launched into a lecture on wasting food and how he was done buying burritos that someone eats one bite of and then throws away. He left the room mumbling about how much milk we go through and why the price of beef is so high. I’m pretty sure he just wanted to escape my detective-like questioning tactics regarding said burrito. He went on the offensive and high-tailed it away from my disgusted mom wrath.
The thing is nobody bought this burrito. It just appeared. It made it’s gross debut on a hot Monday morning in July. It had no special markings to explain where it had come from or why. It just appeared to mock my lazy cleaning skills and natural, God-given talent for procrastination. Maybe it is a blessed burrito. A message in disguise to remind me that I need to step it up around here. Or maybe someone put it in our bag by mistake. The mystery remains and who ever knows the secret of the crusty, old burrito obviously plans to take that secret to their grave.