Suppose you just completed a meal at a local taco restaurant—one of those authentic places, where you’re obliged to speak Spanish but pay in dollars, a place whose walls are plastered with radiant posters displaying the match schedules of Mexican soccer clubs, ads for discount call-abroad phone cards, racks full of CDs whose covers depict groups of paunchy avuncular hombres dressed in black with enormous sombreros and bikini clad chicas seductively beckoning a purchase (of the CD, not of them), framed paintings of fighting cocks, and black and white photos of various 19th century revolutionary heroes. Suppose your meal consisted of three soft-shell tacos filled with roasted steak, a cilantro-onion mixture and dribbles from a lime wedge, plus a small ladle-full of blazing hot sauce (suppose you chose the light green one over the dark green, the orange, or deep red options, all blazing hot). Now, after all that supposing, indulge your imagination once again, and suppose you consume these tacos, and walk outside with a straggler onion bit adhering to your cheek. Is it the public’s duty to bring it to your attention? Who declared that just because we weren’t born with finely chopped produce adorning our faces it is somehow awkward to do so now? Civilized society should acknowledge the merit of oniony cheeks—having a healthy snack close at hand—and move on to other concerns.

For the record, this did not happen to me. I’m merely readying for that possibility.

Advertisements