Fajitas

Things have gone from good to worse over at the Two-Fer.

My parents, god blessim, have long since entertained the idea of moving to Mexico. They have a dream of being served margharita's by someone named Lupita as they ride off into the sunset of their lives. Papa Len has even started taking Spanish lessons; so far, he's mastered "Una Cerveza per favor." As a result of the pending move down Mexico way - Sim Sim Sima has become obsessive about packing. Moving is frightening because leaving Faux Hill is tantamount to suicide. To quote, pre anti-Semitic Mel GIbson, in his Oscar winning movie, Braveheart - "They may take my classic centre-hall mansion, but they may never take my right to sit on the Starbucks patio!"
Sim Sim Sima has subsequently taken it upon herself to get rid of most things in our basement. WWSD right? Well what would Sima do? I can tell you that she'd sell the crap in your basement instead of giving it to charity. That's what she would do and that's what she's currently doing. Profit darling.
Well imagine reading the Saturday Globe and Mail, trying to get angry about Leah Mclaren's narcissism, and having your mother shove a silver serving platter in your face: "do you ever think you'll want this?" Having neither apartment nor home I can't imagine needing sterling silver crockery. Besides... perhaps Liam, my future husband, will come with his own monogrammed set of dishes, right? WASP gentry has shit like that, non? Bottom line: the consistent talk of moving, coupled with people shoving serving platters into my face, has put me a little on edge.
Tensions reached their denoument over dinner - when the family decamped to partake in some supper at the Hope Street Diner - right at the corner of Spadina and Lonsdale. [First, dearest readers - a tip - there is a plethora of hot men serving tables at the Hope Street Diner. One looks like Wentworth Miller. Go. Go now.]

So, Sim Sim Sima opens up the menu, takes a glance and says this:
"Oh, Faux Hillary, they' have Fajita's." She said, pronouncing the j, as in Fa-gee-tas.
"Ah yes, Fahitas - the national cuisine of Mexico. Perhaps you've heard of the country, just south of America. Oh wait - I believe you were planning on moving there."

I guess it makes sense though - Faux Hill, is one of the least multi-cultural nabes in the city. Sure the Village may have two Italian Resto's, but that's pretty much it for ethnicity. Other then Sotto Sotto and Banfi it's Mangia Cake city coupled with a sushi place - which doesn't really count; it's the harajuku girl of the intersection. So don't blame Sim Sim Sima for not knowing how to pronounce Fajita's - we don't really do ethnic in the Village. Starbucks anyone?