I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Spit or swallow?

The phone call comes out of the blue. A friend of mine - who I haven't seen in months - is asking me out to dinner. Since she lives hundreds of miles away and can’t get into the city as often as she’d like, I accept the offer, knowing I won't see her again for a while.

The place we choose is a suitable alternative to the burger haven I thought of and the bubble tea emporium that she mentioned. When we sit down, our orders are jotted down on a pad by the server and we begin chatting.

When our meals arrive, they’re very similar to each other. I ordered a side of cut fries as a side dish while she went with steamed vegetables.

We talk and talk, for what it seems like hours. By the time I finish my meal, she’s still picking away at her plate and moving around the vegetables in circles.

“Is there something wrong with the food?” I ask, concerned. “You’ve hardly touched it.” Just a few seconds ago, she took a bite of celery, spat it into her napkin, and scrunched her face in disgust.

“No, but I think there’s something wrong with the vegetables. They taste kinda funny.”

“Hmmm,” I reply, “Just leave them.” I point to the plate with my fork.

When we finish our meals and pay the bill, I suggest we go back to my place for some coffee/tea and an après dinner confection of something sweet. She agrees.

Back at my place, I make sure she’s comfortable in the living room while I set up a platter with a choice of teas and a few munchies. I walk into the room and her face lights up.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have gone through the trouble,” she says with a smile.

“I just boiled water and brought out some tea bags. I didn’t go out and pick the leaves off the friggin’ tree.” She laughs at my pithy reply.

We have our tea and take one of the bite-size pastries I put on the platter.

When she takes a bite out of the pastry, she makes the same face as she did at the restaurant, puts a napkin to her mouth, and spits out her pastry.

“Was there something wrong with the pastry?” I ask, slightly annoyed. These are good, homemade pastries. No one has ever spit them out.

“There’s something hard in it. I don’t know what it is.”

“Just put it in the napkin and I’ll throw it out later.” I point to the platter for her to leave it there.

While we continue talking, I couldn’t get that spitting action out of my head. Why didn't she just swallow the friggin' thing? I was always taught that if you’re a guest in someone’s home and if you’re fed – cowpie to crap on a cracker – to smile and ask for seconds.

But, since she's a friend, I let it go.

After she leaves, I return to the living room, sit down and pick up another pastry. While I’m chewing away, my tooth hits something hard. That’s strange, I think, this pastry isn’t made with nuts. I pluck the offending piece out of my mouth and hold it between my index finger and my thumb. It’s a hard piece of walnut. I don’t like walnuts.

Instead of swallowing it, I put it in a napkin and leave it on the table for later disposal.

Good thing there were no witnesses.


Blogger tornwordo said...

That is a cute story. Perhaps it is a compliment that she felt she could let her hair down around you.

July 03, 2006 7:57 am  
Blogger Knottyboy said...

I've only spit large chunks of fat out of my mouth. There is nothing more disgusting than doing an impression of a whale hunter enjoying his prized blubber at the table. Patooey!!!

July 03, 2006 11:51 am  
Blogger Kevin said...

You only HOPE it was walnut.

July 03, 2006 1:37 pm  
Blogger Steven said...

Torn: We've known each other for over 20 years, so I hope she's comfortable by now.

KB: Do you know I can actually haer the "patooey" sound?

Six: I hope it was a walnut, too. There are at least a pair of nuts around at all times.

July 04, 2006 6:10 pm  

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