As many of you - my readers - know, I'm the fourth of five children. As a family we dined out often, normally at diners or inexpensive restaurants. Obviously feeding a hoard of seven can be pretty darned expensive; however, there were times we found ourselves at pricey four or five star establishments. My parents enjoyed fine dining and taught my siblings and I while we were very young the proper etiquette for such places. If we so much as grimaced over a dish, we would be reprimanded or escorted out.
Ironically this is the very reason I have a tremendous dislike for seafood. My father always insisted that I try whatever seafood du jour he was eating that particular evening and his trick was to tell me that it "tasted just like steak". To this day there is no way in Hell I can be convinced that shrimp, salmon, shark, scallops, or lobster taste remotely like steak. I will not eat fish in a box, I will not eat fish with a fox...
To bring on the wacky part of this weird tale; I find myself having horrendous table manners when I'm alone with my husband at elegant restaurants. It's that naughty side of me which wants to shoot spit balls at him or just be inappropriate in general. Perhaps it's a late stage rebellion for all those years I sat up straight, kept my elbows off the table, and swallowed my vegetables without so much as crossing my eyes. So, dear readers, you can probably imagine my behavior at fast food restaurants is appalling.
One afternoon my husband met me for lunch at the hamburger restaurant right next to my work place. This particular fast food joint was always packed with co-workers and because my lunch hour was short, I tended to cram food down my gullet and attempt talking to Eric at the same time. At one point of the conversation, I looked up at Eric and something seemed odd. Eric apparently saw it too because at the same moment he burst into laughter and spit the entire contents of his food into my face. As I sat covered with my husband's half-chewed cheeseburger, I realized that hanging from my left nostril was an enormous onion dripping with ketchup. I must have inhaled it with one of my massive bites of food. I blew it out with a huge snort of laughter as it hit Eric's white, starched business shirt creating more hysterical laughter from both of us.
Oh my parents would have been so proud of their little girl.