Admit it. Tacos are awesome.
Whether it’s hard-shelled, soft-shelled, stand-and-stuff, or one of my faves, the “taco boat”, tacos perhaps lay claim to being the greatest human invention of all time, just short of the wheel, and perhaps dental floss.
Bernal Díaz del Castillo, Spanish conquistador and ladies-man/man’s man/man about town documented the first taco feast by the Europeans in Mexico City in the 1500’s. What started out as a celebration dedicated to how awesome they all thought they were for raping and pillaging Aztec people in a new world, quickly turned into a celebration of how awesome these tacos were, and I’m sure (although it is not specifically cited anywhere) that immediately the raping and pillaging ceased, to leave more time for feasting of tacos. That is the magic of tacos.
As an adult, there are few things I get excited for in my life anymore. I’ve already lost my virginity, being in my 30’s I’ve peaked perhaps physically and athletically and am slowly on a downward decline, plus I’ve already made it to the final level in Mike Tyson’s Punch Out, so really what’s left? I wake up, I go to work, I come home, I go to bed, rinse, repeat. But ever-so-occasionally, I find myself in the vortex of a magical day, known as “Taco Tuesday”. I walk out the door with a little extra jump in my step. At work, the shitty lunch I’ve prepared the evening before seems less offensive to me, and the strange smell near the copy machine doesn’t seem to bother me as much, because I know what awaits me when I get home, the light at the end of the tunnel… fucking tacos.
Now you may ask yourself, ‘how could Taco Tuesdays change the world?’ Simple, if we treated every day like Taco Tuesday, the world would be a happier place. Sometimes it’s important to just drop all of the hate in this world, all of the complaining, the animosity, jealousy, and pettiness, and to just shut the fuck up, sit down, and simply eat some damn tacos. Sometimes it’s on a Tuesday.