There are certain phrases you really never think you’ll use in conversation with your father. Dirty Sanchez would be one.
About a month ago, I took the boy to meet my dad at the Archery Club, so he could practice. The girl insisted that we go in too, because she wanted to see Pap. By which she meant “see Pap and have him give me chips and pop”. Anyway, we were sitting at the bar while my dad was working on the boy’s bow, and I noticed the menu. It was typical bar food: fries, burgers, nachos, Dirty Sanchez, cheese sticks.
After I got done choking on a chip, I regained my composure (mostly) and asked, “Um…Dad…ah…so..er…what’s a Dirty Sanchez?”
“A hot dog”, he answered.
“Oh. Does it have…um…chili on it or something?”
“No, it’s just a hot dog.”
“Just a plain hot dog? It doesn’t have, say, brown mustard?”
“No! I am trying to get this done – why do you keep asking me this stuff? It’s just a big hot dog!”
At that point, I just shut the hell up and finished my chips.
Then about a week ago, we were in the car and mr b, being a giant asshat who doesn’t pay attention to what he says in front of the kids (see: the Great What’s a Rim Job Debacle of Ought Seven) , and he throws out Dirty Sanchez. And as I am giving him the Are You Fucking Kidding Me Evil Eye, the kids pipe up from the back seat, “Dirty Sanchez! We had those!”
I let mr b choke for a while before I explained that it was just a big hot dog. He deserves it for saying Dirty Sanchez in front of the kids.