A couple weeks ago, I had a crazy afternoon at the day job. I opted to eat lunch at my desk, and in the interest of shielding my boobs from spaghetti stains, tucked a napkin in the front of my blouse.
Naturally, that’s when the CEO walked past. He stood in the doorway and stared at my sauce-stained, makeshift bib and the noodle hanging from the side of my mouth.
“I want a picture of that.”
Lucky for him, I embarrass myself with food often enough to make photographic evidence unnecessary. Hang around and you’re bound to witness something.
Just last month, one of the housemates walked into my writing office to discover me with my hand in my bra.
“I dropped a Cheerio,” I explained. “I’m trying to fish it out.”
He shook his head. “Whatever you say.”
The most recent example of my social ineptitude with food happened Monday night at a Little League game. While my gentleman friend’s offspring made the rounds on the ball field, he and I munched sandwiches from a nearby deli.
“Want a bite of my pickle?” he asked.
“Are you talking dirty again?”
He laughed and thrust his pickle – the green kind – in front of my face. I shook my head, not particularly interested, but my gentleman friend insisted.
“It’s really good,” he said, wagging the pickle.
As if to illustrate its juicy goodness, the pickle dribbled a healthy portion of brine down the front of my v-neck shirt.
I reacted like any normal woman would (assuming that normal woman has no sense of taste or decorum). I smashed my boobs together to halt the flow of fluid, curled my tongue into a straw, and slurped the pickle juice from my cleavage.
My gentleman friend blinked in disbelief. “You did not just do that.”
“I did,” I confirmed, glancing around to be sure the parents and players were fixated on the game instead of my pornographic display.
“You licked pickle juice off your boobs at a Little League game.”
“Isn’t that better than if you licked pickle juice off my boobs at a Little League game?”
“Good point,” he agreed, and turned back to the ball field.
So this is why I probably shouldn’t eat in public. Or why I should just start going topless so I never have to worry about lost food and stained shirts.