A Big, Fat, Mar-ga-ri-TA!
When something calls for a casual warm weather celebration at our house, that usually means whipping up a pitcher of icy cold margaritas. Once the notion of having them comes up someone–usually one of the real margarita junkies, i.e., me, our son Ted, or one of our daughters-in-law, Jamye or Katharine–starts what’s become an Eades family tradition, the margarita chant. To a conga line rhythm, complete with conga choreography and maraca percussion on the ‘TA’ if available, it goes something like this:













