I'm ridiculously susceptible to suggestion! I was innocently watching Ratatouille. The Mexican had never seen it before. So, I turned it on and we're watching and laughing. Every now again, the disc freezes up and I have to explain what's just happened. I'm trying not to hate on J. I loaned him my copy of Ratatouille, and it came back all scratched. Which kind of makes me want to slap him. Your mileage may vary.
So, we're 45 minutes in to the movie. Movies about rats in the kitchen ought to horrify me, since the idea of a rat in a kitchen kills me. And yet, I'm suddenly craving French food. We could've gone to where The Mexican works. But that would defeat the purpose of his night off. We could've gone to Toulouse. But the last time I went there was on a date and I want to keep that as my happy last adventure there. We decide that we really just need white wine, crusty bread and brie. And we can acquire all of those things at Central Market. TO THE CAR!
We race outside and are greeted with Dallas' first winter storm. The precipitation is making noise at it hits the driveway. "SNOW!" yells The Mexican. "Sleet, stoopit." is my reply. We had planned to go to Central Market. We quickly amended the plan to be the liquor store for wine (and tequila for Smang) and Albertson's for whatever french bread and fancy cheese options we could suss out. We got a wheel of brie, some pepperoni and sliced Canadian bacon, a pound of cherries and a loaf of Albertson's brand french bread (still warm from their industrial ovens). Oh, and a beajoulais and a pouilly-fusse.
And then The Mexican and I ate all the cherries.
And all the bread.
And most of the cheese.
And polished off both those bottles of wine.
And finished Ratatouille. And then Zoolander. And then A Bug's Life.
And then he left and I rolled myself down the hall and flopped onto my bed like a beached whale.
Thar she blows!