Another time, I found a long black hair in my Texas Roadhouse ribs. Then there was an awkward moment when the dark-haired waitress came to our table right as I was dangling it above my plate, a small chunk of meat hanging from the end.
The Armageddon of things you don't want to find in your food: the "suspicious" hair. Like Voldemort, it is pure evil and should not be named directly. Nathan had the poor fortune of encountering one of these hairy horcruxes at my former favorite pita place (ok, my only pita place): Pita Pit. A pit it was, a pit of pitas and ... I shall tell you.
|The crazed look in that pita's eyes--it came from somewhere.|
We ordered our pitas, and sat, unsuspecting, enjoying our deceptively unhealthy meal. Then it happened.
After a particularly scrumptious bite of pita, Nathan saw it--the offending hair right in the center of his half-eaten pita. Black, wiry, a bit of twisted curl to it. Like a cobra poised to strike, it swayed from its pita den.
Horrified, Nathan plucked it from the pita and threw it to the ground, and we have never been back.
We don't call it Pita Pit anymore, but we leave the alliteration intact, if you know what I mean.