Queridos, Que puedo decir mas que...lo siento.
I'm sorry that we interrupted your elegant interior-Mexican dining experience with our noise and our mess. I'm sorry about the milk that may have shot over to your table. I'm sorry about the grease or cheese that you may find smeared on the hem of your jacket later tonight, courtesy of a tiny, wandering Godzilla. I'm sorry about you having to hear the conversation (with the Noisiest Person in America who has no inside voice) about what kind of queso is this and I like the other kind better, you know, the runny kind? Is this even queso?
I'm sorry if your enjoyment of your delicately flavored, anise-infused black beans was diminished upon seeing them smeared, beard-like, on our son. I'm sorry about the clean-up necessary after we left, and anything about your meal tonight that may have felt more like Taco Cabana than Fonda San Miguel.
Really, we belong at home. Or at a stable. Either way, you won't be seeing the whole family any time soon.
De nada,
Kate