Jeff and I were on our way home from his EECP therapy at Legacy Heart Care in Fort Worth via a jog to Burleson to browse used fifth-wheel RVs when we started kicking around supper ideas: fixing the other half of the pork-venison sausage or warming up the chicken nuggets.
“Y’know, on second thought, I sure could go for some Mexican,” he said.
Call me easy, but Jeff had me at “Mexican”. With some major life plans in the works, we tried convincing each other that we really should watch our expenses. However, our resolve flew out the window at the thought of enchiladas. Yeah, beef enchiladas oozing with melty cheese and a frozen margarita.
I pointed to the time on the dashboard.
“Hey, it’s five-forty-five. We’re still in time for Happy Hour.”
With a nod, Jeff hung a hard left under the I-20 E overpass and turned onto Bowen Road. In minutes, we were pulling into the Campo Verde parking lot.
Besides for a good glass o’ red, I love a frozen margarita or, as I like to call it, a “tequila slurpee”. I have yearned for a “frozen margarita with salt on the rim” since New Year’s Day when an ER doctor put me on heavy-duty painkillers after I showed up with a broken arm. Since my brain was foggy from medicine, I’ve had to be satisfied with Coke, iced tea, or ice water.
Well, that all ends tonight, I told self, as I — a ‘frequent flier’ at Campo Verde since 2006 — looked over a menu I already knew by heart.
While we grazed on Campo Verde’s irresistible chips, queso, and salsa, a server calling himself Jimmy took our food orders: chicken enchiladas for Jeff, and flautas for me. Then he asked us for our drink orders.
“I’ll take a Shiner Bock, if you have it,” said Jeff. Jimmy scribbled on his pad before turning to me.
“And for you, ma’am?”
I gave him a sidelong I-thought-you’d-never-ask wink.
“As a matter of fact, I would love a frozen margarita with salt on the rim, please. It’s my first, since I came off the meds.”
Okay, maybe that last part, classified as “too much information” or TMI, made him wonder what kind of substances I’d been strung out on, but I simply couldn’t help it. I had to have that frozen “marg”.
So Jeff cut in. “Just so you know, my wife had shoulder surgery which had her on some pretty stout stuff to get her over the pain. Now that she’s healing, and her doctor has taken her off of them, she’s looked forward to a margarita for almost two months. You could say this is sort of a celebration for us.”
After a few minutes, Jimmy returned with Jeff’s beer and my ‘rita.
Whipping his phone from his holster, Jeff handed it to Jimmy.
“Before you go, could you take our picture?”
“And take one with my phone, too, while you’re at it,” I added, handing him my phone.
“Sure,” Jimmy said, as he put down napkins on the table for our drinks. As he was handing me my drink, I –incurable ‘ham’ that I tend to be– clutched his arm and gave him my most beseeching smile as I took the margarita.
“Oh, thank you, THANK you!” I gushed like an ingenue actor receiving her first Oscar. “I’ll remember you in my next blog post.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said, with a self-conscious laugh. “I’d appreciate that.”
About an hour later and full to popping from our meal, Jeff and I waddled up to the register, grabbed a praline, and paid out.
Back in our car with the praline, Jeff was shifting into reverse when I suddenly pawed my face and frantically dug through my purse. For about the nth time since I shifted away from contact lenses and back to frames in 2013, I had once again wandered out without my glasses.
“I’ll get them, ” Jeff said, unbuckling his seat belt. “Where do you think you left them?”
“On the table? Or on the checkout counter? Shoot, I don’t know. Ask our server.”
So, Jimmy, because you made my milestone, one-and-you’re-done ‘marg’ memorable, this blog’s for you.