I love Das dip

I waddled out from the house and headed straight down the street to the wooden patio of the town taqueria. Right on a low timber picnic bench, sitting beside a discarded brown paper bag, was a tiny sealed plastic tub of warm nacho cheese dip. I squared up my round belly, backed up half a step, and gave the container an enthusiastic, solid shove. The plastic cup slid two inches across the sunlit cedar with a satisfying zip, bumping squarely into a dry tortilla chip that had fallen between the slats. The chip stayed put, holding the little cup upright like a tiny golden pedestal. Pure supreme perfection!