The Bad Thing I Did

When I was a sophomore at Linfield, I made a pair of nacho pants. I took an old pair of jeans and sewed a potholder on the inside of the front left pocket, to protect my leg. I sewed a heavy-duty plastic liner on the inside of the pocket and stapled an old Cool Whip tub to the waistband. I filled the tub with corn chips, filled the pocket with gooey cheddar and went strolling.

While I never did secure the patent on those little beauties, my love for the good stuff hasn't dissipated over the years. When most opt for popcorn at the cinema, I'm reaching for the nachos. I remember covering the Greater Oregon League as a sportswriter for the Gresham Outlook. Jeanne and I almost always split an order while she kept stats and I started writing the story.

And the last four years, I've shopped at Costco and always seen that Que Bueno in the industrial foods aisle. You know the aisle I'm talking about--it's loaded with vats of mayonnaise and barrels of vinegar.

And wondrous cans of gooey goodness.

If your Costco is like mine, and you stick to the perimeter to avoid the crowds like I do, you know where the Que Bueno is. It's not in the center of the aisle, but it's not at the end, either. I can always see it when I pass, but it's a ways down there. It takes a commitment to go get this cistern of yellow gold.

I always pass, but every time I can feel the Que Bueno watching me, that little smile on its can. C'mon! that smile says...C'mon and have some nachos! All the nachos you could ever want, right in the comfort and privacy of your own home!

I had my moment of weakness this afternoon, and that big daddy you see above is now in the back of my refrigerator. No, I'm not coaching a kids' soccer team, or volunteering at the local little league. I'm not selling nachos so the kids can take a trip to Washington, D.C.

I bought the can, and I can already see the error of my ways. It's a lot of cheese, folks. It's a damned lot of cheese.

Still, I have until next May. Progress reports as news warrants...