My phone buzzed the other day while I was at Target (as per us-) and thought, perhaps, it would be my mom telling me what she needed from Target (because I am 1. always at Target and 2. considerate as fuck).

But instead, my mom thought she might give me some advice; Impart some knowledge. Now, I appreciate advice from my mom. Moms, as you might know, are never wrong.

Unless you’re a teenager, then they’re always wrong and the only person who is right is your one friend who wears tube tops and has absentee parents.

Here are some of my mom’s greatest hits:

“Maybe don’t marry that guy.”

“Join AAA and, if you ever buy a battery from them, spend that extra $15 for a warranty.”

“You should really get tested for food allergies.”

“Midol is just ibuprofen and caffeine. Wash three advil down with Diet Coke and save yourself $8.”

“Putting conditioner on your scalp will make your hair greasy.”

“Get your pap every year.”

“Use coconut oil to take your makeup off instead of soap.”

My mom is a smart lady. So when she gives me advice, I listen. Even if it comes a little out of nowhere and makes little sense, like an enigmatic wizard in a story where a little boy finds a wand in creek or whatever.

So what truth bomb did she drop on me this time?

“If anyone ever asks you to do something, ask yourself if you’d do it for $40 and some tacos.”

And, I mean, it’s pretty solid advice except I feel like my mom might not understand the lengths to which I’d go for free tacos.

Would I kill a man?

I don’t know, would a man be foolish enough to get between me a plate of flavorful, corn-tortilla wonder-envelopes? I think that might be the better question to ask ourselves.

Here’s some things I’d do for $40 and some tacos:

Punch Banksy in the throat, take a selfie and yell, “Commentate on this, nerd!”

Fight a yoga mom.

Take public transit without wearing headphones or sunglasses.

Walk downtown in flip-flops.

Change all of my professional headshots to this:

Have an extended conversation with anyone who legitimately counts Fight Club as one of their favorite movies.

Go to Las Vegas.

Ask the man who plays a banjo and sells $8 cheese at the Mar Vista Farmer’s Market how he escaped from a Wes Anderson film.

Eat chard.

Go back to college, probably.

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