Ahhhhh....Tuesdays. There is nothing more terrible in the modern world than Tuesday. The perfume of the weekend (that elusive mynx) has been entirely corrupted by Monday morning's meeting, and all hope for stimulation must wait until the stupid excuse of Wednesday afternoon's "hump-day treat." Now don't get me wrong; I generally like what I do; I'm happily married; and I'm not widely considered disruptive, alcoholic, or unproductive. But come Tuesday night, I find my situation invariably... BLEEK.
I suppose if I were a scientist, I would explain this away with theories revolving around the stresses of the modern age and the contrary benefits of my paleo lifestyle, but, to be honest, there seems to be some things that eating right, exercising, laughing, and sleeping just don't do.
And so, I've come to a solution. If Tuesdays suck, what better way to make them awesome than to celebrate them? Therefore, my friends, I give you: Margarita Tuesdays.
The rules of the game: Every Tuesday, I will celebrate-through garlic slowly simmered in extra virgin olive oil, and pork chops gently braised with rosemary peaches; and steak, essence of butter and pepper, seared to perfection. And no matter what, it will alway start with a margarita. I say, some people choose perfection, mediation, or disillusion; I choose margaritas!
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