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.
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.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
4 Comments:
That is a cute story. Perhaps it is a compliment that she felt she could let her hair down around you.
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!!!
kb
You only HOPE it was walnut.
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.
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