Where Everybody Knows Your Name

The curtains are not really curtains. They are Mexican blankets cinched at the bottom. The walls are bright yellow, the refrigerated Coca-Cola is most definitely from across the border, and the offerings on the menu range form the mundane (tocino y huevos) to the maniacal (tacos de ojos).

It is La Bandera Molino and it is our version of comfort food.

So, when entering my 4th straight day of feeling like a human snot-factory and virus incubator and my second straight day of single-parenthood (Stef was out of town), I decided that it would be a great idea to go be comforted by Mexican blanket-curtains.

It was indeed a great idea.

The tacos were wonderful, the child was behaved, and the Coke was oh-so-refreshing. For just a few minutes, before I got home to the once-again whining child and pounding ears and head, there was some peace.

So what if the curtains are not really curtains.