Taco Bell and Other Terrible Ideas

I recently took a road trip with my young adult son, which was lovely right up until we made the fateful decision to stop at Taco Bell.

He gently suggested I order something “safe,” like the chicken tacos.
I, being a seasoned adult who absolutely knows better, declared,

“No. Beef Taco Supreme. No sour cream. I’ll be fine.”

Narrator: She was not fine.

Ten minutes later, I was curled up in the passenger seat like a Victorian ghost with The Vapors, clutching my stomach, drifting in and out of consciousness, and occasionally moaning like a haunted house attraction.

My son drove on, quietly regretting ever letting me near a menu.
My body, meanwhile, delivered its usual message loud and clear:

Absolutely not. Never again.

This is not a mistake I will be repeating anytime soon, even if my son swears the chicken tacos are “basically harmless.”