Lauren and I just got back from a straight-to-the-vein dose of beans and cheese at El Mercado on South 1st Street. It was nice: plenty of sour cream and cheese, xylophone and accordion playing softly, UT v. Baylor on a bigscreen somewhere, our server dressed as a mischievous something (he had horns--maybe just a mischievous server).
When our server refilled my Dr. Pepper, he refilled it with Diet Pepsi, an easy mistake as they share the same initials. But I didn't even notice. I knew something was off. I thought maybe the syrup was low, but no, that wasn't it. So, I let it go and enjoyed my weird Dr. Pepper. The server realized his mistake a few minutes later and swapped them out. But I'd already decided that my Pepsi was Dr. Pepper so I was cool either way.
I told you that story so I could tell you this one. I'd just finished my enchiladas and started on the rice and beans when a costumed gentlemen walked up to the bar. From the top, he wore a flaxen galaxy-bobbed wig, sparkling bustier, matching high-hipped bikini bottom, and satin high high heels. Lauren and I said a quick prayer for the bar stool and then decided, just like how I didn't order a Diet Pepsi, we didn't order an inter-galactic space tranny. Of course he was still there, volutpuously swallowing his bikini, but, just like with the Diet Pepsi, we were cool either way.