playing with my food . . .

I can still hear the words echoing around in my head . . .  my plate being empty of all I had deemed eatable:  "Don't play with your food, Jeanne." or,  "You're in a restaurant, Jeanne, behave yourself."

And still the urge was in me.  One that had to be quelled.  Squashed at the onset.  Behave.  Behave.  Behave.

One of the wonderful things about being an adult is that you don't have to squelch all of those inhibitions all the time.  I mean seriously, what if you are, at say . . . your favorite lunch place where Michelle, the waitress and Gron, the chef, are practically family.   And say, you are there with your two best luncheon buddies, who already know you might not be the brightest crayon.  I mean wouldn't those conditions dampen those voices in your brain.  Wouldn't it just this one time be OK to . . . you know . . .
PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD????

Well I did.   So there!!!!

and in case you cannot tell, it is a food Moose.  See the antlers?  And Meeses being from the frozen tundra, needed a scarf. 

And even when I am trying to behave, sometimes things don't always work out.  Take yesterday.  Lee and I decided to meet at a local Thai restaurant.  Neither of us being Thai literate, we asked the waitress for help with the decision making.  We vowed whatever we ended up with, we would share.  Things were going relatively well through the first course:  the soup was yummy and the spring rolls crisp.  When our entrees arrived,  it was a phantasmagoria of color and aroma.  The transitioning of half of my roasted garlic pork onto Lee's plate went off without a hitch as did her shrimp curry to mine . . . or so we thought, until we separated the two plates and a salmon colored puddle of gigantic proportions appeared on the table between the plates.  Oopsie! 

Lee thoughtfully covered it with a cocktail napkin and lunch continued.  Until of course, the waitress came for our plates and discovered our reservoir of curried goodness.  One cocktail napkin was obviously not enough, nor would two have been.  She returned with a sponge.  :::OK, refraining from commenting on a sponge at the table in a restaurant . . . thank.you.very.much.mother:::  . . . but suffice it to say that even when I try to behave, it doesn't always work. 

What I am thankful for is that my partner in grime crime never batted an eye.  Oh, I may have heard a small chortle and a giggle or two, OK, one large gaffaw, but what the heck, that's what friends are for.


No photos were taken in order to protect the dignity of any recalcitrant diners.

p.s. it was Lee's fault anyway.