The daiquiri is the work of the devil. Do not be fooled by its strawberry goodness, its innocent topping of whipped cream, the sugar-rimmed glass. Mark my words, the road to perdition is paved with daiquiris.

This would make the road to perdition a somewhat squishy, rather pink place, which probably saves the Prince of Darkness a bundle on road signs, what with it being so distinctive and all. Say what you will about Satan, clearly he knows how to save a buck without looking like a tightwad.

So how did I make the daiquiri/devil link? Ah, last night at my birthday supper.

So we're sitting around a table at the local Auberge tucking into a truly tasty Mexican meal when the subject turned to which sense could you live without. Oh yes, throw a daiquiri or two into the blender and I can bring the conversation down to levels seldom seen outside a pre-school.

Four daiquiris and I'd be ready to resort to the fisticuffs to settle that red hot issue: finger painting--art or not. Fortunately, the world has yet to see a Marn four daiquiri night and we can all only pray it never happens.

Yep, so like I said, the question was which sense each of us would be willing to cough up and one of my friends said she would give up smell because it wouldn't matter nearly as much to her as the joy of taste.

Fueled by the pink daiquiri goodness, I immediately became She Who Knows EVERYTHING and said that you need smell to taste and without smell you hardly taste things at all. Eyebrows were raised. The question of taste buds was raised.

I again reaffirmed that you had to have smell and harkened back to an experiment we'd done in Grade 8 where a teacher had put a clothespin on our noses and made us eat a slice of raw potato (washed so the starch was gone) and then a slice of a very firm apple. None of us could tell the difference because the texture was identical.

More skepticism.

Now let us pause here. Did it really matter one whit whether or not smell is involved in taste? Was not the real question simply which sense were you willing to part with?

Why yes, yes it was.

In some small corner of my walnut-sized, daiquiri-addled brain did I not realize that?

Why yes, yes I did.

And yet, I Could Not Let It Drop. Oh no, I had to be She Who Knows EVERYTHING. It is one of my many extremely annoying character traits and you would think that at this point in my life I would have oh, I don't know, maybe GROWN UP a little and learned when to shut up.

But oh, no, I HAD to be right.

It is a testimony to the forbearance of my friends that I was not soundly pummeled with menus and then poked repeatedly with forks for good measure. I will always be grateful for their amazing self-restraint.

One day, one day I am going to grow up enough that when I go out with friends I will leave that nasty little woman She Who Knows EVERYTHING firmly ensconced in a straightjacket at home under my bed, to be cruelly taunted by dust bunnies.

Until then, I guess I'd better lay off the daiquiris.

Oh.

Drat.

I think I may have drunk my last daiquiri ever.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 270.24 miles (434.8 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers