Square Peg ● Round Hole







I am sure that those of you who read my blog, Holy Guacamole, on Monday have lost sleep over how it all turned out. Did Brian make the yummy green concoction? Was it edible? Did he go rogue and not follow a recipe? Calm down, friends. Here is the conclusion to this riveting story.

My spouse is adorable. I say that with love and a bit of sarcasm. On Monday morning, he ventured into our bedroom where I was working on my second book, and proudly announced that he made homemade guacamole. I wasn’t sold because I am privy to my husband’s lack of willingness to follow directions. He had read my blog and said, “You know my father will be calling with a recipe now that you wrote about it.” Well, apparently not soon enough because he went on a made it. The recipe phone call came much later. Next time, his Dad needs to be a little quicker. He should know how impulsive his baby boy is.

Like a gun, I shot off various questions. Did you follow a recipe? How does it taste? Did you refer to Pinterest for a recipe? After thirty-one years of being together, I have no idea why I even inquire. Yes, he looked at a recipe, but dismissed it, as he felt confident that he could totally wing it. No, Pinterest apparently is only used for woodworking ideas and, his description of the taste was not a selling point.

I ventured into the kitchen only to be accosted by a bowl of brownish, liquid. The consistency was of salsa. Have you ever experienced a baby blowout where even the diaper can’t contain the horror? That’s what it reminded me of and I couldn’t even hold in my commentary. “What the truck (please insert the F-word for emphasis, if you are so inclined) is that?” Like a loving and supportive wife that I am, I did a taste test trying hard not to look directly at the mixture of brown. It did not have the flavor of guacamole. If anything it tasted somewhat like salsa. My response was, “You better eat all of this.” Then I left the room. We still have at least 500 limes left and two avocados plus a shit ton of oranges. Yes, I am aware I exaggerate. I can guarantee, aside from the oranges, the rest will not be used. Sigh.

So, the end result was baby poop in a bowl. Maybe next time he will use a recipe, but I doubt it.