Oh sh*t

First, a little back story- my sister ALWAYS orders the wrong things at restaurants. If a landlocked state has a restaurant famous for beef, she will go and order the salmon. At the seafood restaurant, she will order the vegetable platter. She reminded me of this the other night as we were deciding what to order at a a classic local restaurant that is known for having good New Mexican food.

I ordered a buffalo burger, and my sister ordered the chicken tostada, a menu item recommended by our waitress. I was proud of her. As we began eating, Meghan commented that she smelled something peculiar. I told her that I had ordered green chile on top of my burger, and that was probably responsible for the strong odor. She agreed. About four minutes later, she passed me a piece of chicken and told me to smell it. I was given no hints about what she thought it smelled like, but I guessed the right answer immediately. It smelled like honest-to-goodness human poop.

Do you know what it's like trying to explain to your friendly waitress that your use of the word "poop" is not hyperbolic? She looked horrified...and angry. (She's angry? She's the one who served us human poop!)

Needless to say, we cannot show our faces there again. On the upside, Meghan didn't get violently ill as anticipated.