Gratitude

“They are gathered around the Doritos. Of course they are.”

For example: spring.  A magnolia tree, a door. 

The guard at the New York Historical Society is drinking green juice from a squat little bottle—a kale-based new year’s resolution, he does not say—and the air is over-warm with an unexplained smell of Limoncello and egg-mayonnaise.

They are gathered around the Doritos. Of course they are. The friend who knows me best looks up and says, “We know you love your Doritos!”  

It’s true, I love Doritos.  I love Doritos® Cool Ranch® Flavored Tortilla Chips. I love Doritos® Dinamita® Chile Limón Flavored Rolled Tortilla Chips. I love Doritos® Dinamita® Fiery Habanero Flavored Rolled Tortilla Chips. I love Doritos® Flamas® Flavored Tortilla Chips. But I do not love the Nacho Cheese. 

Several of the faces at this gathering wear an expectant expression that begins to sink as the seconds pass. I chew. I cough. I try to smile and feign shock. Their eyes die and the dead eyes say, “You know, he isn’t even grateful.”

I admit there is something vulgar about inventing a character, a situation, a state of mind, and of course in my better moods that is what I love to do, but there is something far worse, something perfumed and corrupt, about presenting a friend with the wrong kind of snack.