It isn't just the guys. . .

Ok, so this could so easily be me. . .It’s a detailed and funny (especially if you can relate) tale of a lady dining out of her class. I can relate; totally. Nearly nothing can make me feel so uncomfortable as dining out of my class, and I completely agree with this statement:

I am so out of place. I am beneath… contendedly so. And I’m fine that way. I will never get use to food I can’t recognize in a glance. I will never understand silence at a dinner table, talking only of surface subjects – everything being wonderful and beautiful – instead of talking wildly or debating the latest subject, laughing hilariously about something that happened that day, cutting back and forth in between bites, each sharing their part of a story, finishing off each others sentences – disagreeing and just agreeing to disagree, moving right along to the next topic – dinner time being the best part of our day, feeling so close and connected. That’s where we formed our beliefs, our loves, our memories.

I’ll never quite understand why there is five eating utensils and two glasses, and a napkin that looks more like something you would frame.

I don’t want to spoil the story and ruin all the build-up and such, but I will say that it involves taking food that appears to be safe (some type of potato), and only finding out after it’s in her mouth that it’s really a sea urchin!

Go read it.

Maybe you might even begin to understand why I avoid all formal occasions like the plague. Actually, I might have an easier time dealing with the plague. . .

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