The Case of the Missing Nachos

It was a dark and stormy Wednesday, the perfect backdrop for a snack crime of this magnitude. The scene: our coffee table. The crime: a nacho platter, fully loaded, gone without a trace. Not a crumb. Not a jalapeño seed. Nothing but the faint aroma of melted cheese, the signature calling card of a repeat offender.

The detective? My wife. The prime suspect? Me. The accomplice? Our dog, who, in his defense, has yet to master English—or guilt avoidance. She paces the living room like a CSI pro. “Where are the nachos?” she demands. “You’re the only one home.” I shrug, cool as sour cream. “No idea.”

The tray, though, tells another story. It’s been wiped so clean you’d think a Roomba took a crack at it. No salsa stains. No guac smears. Even the cheese drips are gone, erased like they were never there. She looks at me, then at the dog. The dog looks at me, then at the door. Neither of us flinches.

I insist I’m innocent, but she doesn’t buy it. “Nachos don’t just disappear,” she says. And she’s right. But what can I say? Hunger does strange things to people—and dogs. This National Crime Junkie Day, make nachos so good they become the stuff of true crime legends. But beware: when the platter’s empty, everyone’s a suspect.

#nachos #thewanderingnacho #truecrimenachos #nachoplatter #snackdetectives #crimejunkieday #missingnachos #whodunnit

Image created using DALL-E.