Bean Dip

Tassi attended a friend's baby shower. Thus, I had Brooklyn and Camden alone and wanted to treat them to a special dinner. Of course, Brooklyn initially voted for her favorite Chick-fil-a but she and I finally negotiated on "messidan food". (She hasn't been able to correctly pronounce "Mexican food".)

So we found ourselves at Los Tres Magueyes playing tic-tac-toe in a booth. Brooklyn on one side and Camden and I on the other. After ordering for myself and the girls, I asked "Is there bean dip?" "No," was the waiters reply, much to my dismay.

Our food came and we started to chow down. Camden put some of her food in my face. It looked like bean dip and I immediately began to resent that the waiter lied to me. "Hey, there's bean dip," I thought.

And then I smelled it.

My head whipped down to look where Camden is standing on the booth bench. A puddle of diarrhea pooled from shoe to shoe as balanced herself, leaning over me, shoving the feces into my face, trying to communicate her accident.

"Dapa dapa," Camden was saying (Diaper).

I nearly gagged. I quickly signaled to the waiter and asked for the check and boxes. The stench was beginning to spread. I could not tell if the neighboring booth could smell the offensive, hanging scent.

Needless to say, my appetite for bean dip has dissipated.