Other states get a plain red heart. We get the green one, because down here affection is measured in Scoville units and the only question that actually matters at a restaurant is "red or green?" You said green. You committed. You are now legally obligated to put roasted chile on eggs, burgers, pizza, and anything else that holds still long enough.
This is for the people who treat September roasting season like a national holiday, who think 75 and sunny in January is just a regular Tuesday, who know a sopaipilla with honey counts as a vegetable. Wear it out of state and watch some poor soul ask if it's "spicy spicy." Yes. Yes it is.
Soft enough to nap in, tough enough to survive a dusty tailgate and a hundred trips through the wash without going sad and crunchy. Comfortable, well made, and roomy enough for a second helping of enchiladas, which, let's be honest, is happening.
