I’ve been craving fajitas since Christmas Eve. I wanted to make tacos for Christmas dinner and Johnny said it was sacrilegious. I think we had chicken pot pie instead. Like, I’m totally sure Jesus would prefer tacos on his birthday, but whatever.  Anyway, since he’s camping with his buddies this Saturday, I get whatever I want on Friday. Usually I make him take me to Maryville for Chili’s or Cheddars, and maybe peruse Hobby Lobby and the bookstore while we’re at it. I rarely push my luck for a movie, but it does come under consideration on occasions when I’m particularly vexed. So it was decided early in the week that we would finally satisfy my fajita famine this Friday, unless an oyster craving took over my life between now and then. No, I’m not pregnant. I just like food.  So after two full days worth of snow advisory warnings and twelve hours of on again/off again snow showers, we bundled up and set off, he in his camo, and me in my Lularoe.  We take note of the specials and settle into our booth, making conversation with our favorite waitress (her kids are already hoping they won’t have to go to school Monday, nevermind the snow has yet to stick). We enjoy our drippy cheese dip. We make fun of the Yankees in the booth behind us. Our tiny…