Wahaca hates me

I am meant to be meeting some friends for dinner. This event has recently changed from an ‘at home’ event to a restaurant affair. Someone has suggested Wahaca. Everyone is enthusiastic. I reply curtly, ‘I hate Wahaca, and will not be eating there. All other restaurants good.’ There is resounding silence from my friends. I can
tell that they would prefer to eat at Wahaca without me.

This is just another example of the pernicious effect Wahaca is having upon my life. First time I went there, I took some of their free matches. In a later romantic situation (I look 236% better in candlelight, and therefore like all romantic events to take place in semi-gloom. Trust me, it’s wise) I attempted to use these matches to frantically yet seductively light candles. No go. The whole event was a bust, naturally (direct light is not my friend). Turns out Wahaca, because they’re so bloody ‘Mexican’ and whatnot, don’t give out free matches. From Wahaca, you get chilli seeds. I’m serious. Little
strips of chilli seeds that come in a matchbox. Presumably so you can finger these chillis and then wipe your eyes, and re-experience the joys of Wahaca.

I was dragged back to Wahaca on a second occasion. I left the first visit hungry yet poor, so this time I decided to ask the waiter’s advice. Unfortunately, I was a little too enthusiastic in my new relationship with the waiter, and very nearly was dumped after dinner. I blame Wahaca entirely.

In its final twist of the knife, Wahaca has now seen to it that I am eating dinner alone tonight. No boyfriend, no eyesight, no friends. I expect Wahaca will soon be visiting to inform me it has bought my house, and I should leave immediately. My friends will probably rush over for dinner.