February 8, 2006
I love beef. I love a good burger, a good barbequed steak, a good roast. Love it. I could never be a vegetarian. No way in hell. It’s a wonder though.
This brings me back to a dining experience I had when I was 12 years old. I will never forget this, ever.
I was visiting a friend who lived near my grandmother’s house. I lived with my grandmother for a year or so while I was going to junior high school and would often hang out at Michelle’s house. Michelle was outgoing, tall, kinda geeky but athletic and fun to be around. On this particular day, she invited me to stay for supper. I gladly agreed. She told me her mom was making roast beef, with mashed potatoes, gravy and homemade rolls. Freakin’ awesome.
We had played outside most of the day, so by the time supper rolled around, we were starving and so looking forward to our meal. It’s a fucking wonder I will even eat a roast now. **Shudder**
We sit down at the table, all the fixins’ laid out before us. It smelled wonderful and looked divine. Did anyone ever tell you, that looks can be deceiving? Well they can.
I ate a big forkful of mashed ‘taters with gravy and oh my gawd, it was heaven. The rolls were soft and fresh, so tasty. I cut into the roast on my plate and hacked (yes hacked) a chunk off (that should have worried me right then and there) and proceeded to put the piece of meat into my mouth. I started to chew. And chew. And chew. And chew. I’m also starting to sweat. I mean how long does it take to chew a piece of meat? But this would not break up like normal. Now her parents are asking me questions. Great. How in hell do I speak with a big piece of rubbery, half chewed, mangled, won’t go down my throat, piece of meat in my mouth? I’m politely smiling with a big wad of meat tucked into the left side of my mouth, wondering what to do with it? I can’t very well purge it out of my mouth onto my plate, although that was pretty tempting. I couldn’t go to the bathroom because I couldn’t talk well enough to excuse myself. I was too paranoid that it would look weird if I just bolted from the table and ran to the bathroom.
Gawd. What do I do???? I’m looking around, trying to find a solution to get rid of this piece of chewed shit in my mouth, that abso-freakin-lutely refuses to go down and all the while, trying to eat the other food. I felt like everyone was staring at me. My pits were soaked. As I’m scanning the table, I see it. My salvation. My solution. My napkin. Lordy Lordy, thank you. I grab it and put it up to my mouth. But what now? I can’t just spit the chunk of meat out into it, they’ll see me. I had a brief lightbulb moment. I’ll pretend to cough and hold the napkin up to my mouth and cough the offending crap into the napkin. That’s gotta work right? Wellll, not quite.
I picked up the napkin and let out a big, fake cough, that I’m pretty sure startled everyone at the table. I quickly looked up and smiled, to let them know, that I’m fine but just have a touch of a cold apparently. The mushy, mostly chewed, piece of roast is now safely tucked into my napkin. Oh. Oh. Wait. No, no it wasn’t. It had fallen from my napkin, onto my lap. Super. Okay, now what? Do I pick up the offending chunk of meat that I had chewed for like 20 freakin minutes and place it on my plate? Ummmm no. Gross. Do I inconspicuously put my napkin onto my crotch and try to wrap the meat up in it? Pretty sure that’s not gonna work. I’m sweating again. As I am again trying to figure out what to do, a see something out of the corner of my eye. It’s white and fluffy. And it’s walking. OMG it’s a dog. Thank you Jesus. I’m hoping that this mutt has half a brain and a good snout. He doesn’t…. because he santers off to the livingroom to nap on the couch. Shit.
I decided to make a bold move and whistle to the dog. Michelle looks up and is kind of startled that I’ve whistled during supper. I suppose it did make me look like a tard. But come on, I’ve got a piece of mangled, chewed up chunk of meat in my crotch. Well not in my crotch, but close enough.
The dog looks up and comes running. Yay! He must have gotten a whiff of my meat…..ha. ha. ha. and comes right up to me and then begins to eat the roast out of my lap. I am cooing over him and petting him and making lots of baby talk in order to disguise the chewing noises he’s making. Michelle and her family have now stopped eating and are staring at me like I’ve got 3 heads.
It was a very uncomfortable moment but hey, I was rid of that fucking horrid piece of meat from my crotch. Oh and I was never invited back for supper. Go figure.