I’d like to apologize to those of you who have had to sit through a meal with me recently. While I am still the proud owner of a copy of Tiffany’s Table Manners for Teenagers, had you the experience of watching me try to employ the use of common utensils, such as a fork, spoon, or heaven forbid, a knife, you would think I was raised by a pack of wolves.
I realize it doesn’t help dispel the allegation, when I try to pry the cap off the bottled water with my teeth, but the rubber band trick I was using no longer works for me. It seems that between the loss of fine motor skills and muscle tone, even a spoon is not safe in my hands, and most foods simply do not defy gravity long enough, to stay on the utensil until reaches my mouth. Luckily some gets in, but the rest either falls on my plate, the newly laundered tablecloth, the napkin in my lap, or if Blue is really lucky it goes straight to the floor.
This ongoing struggle has played out in several ways: it takes me a really long time to eat; I am usually tired and still hungry by the time I give up. Chris will sometimes cut my food for me, which is thoughtful at home, but could become embarrassing if we start to do it in public. Blue eagerly awaits his just rewards during dinner, and on a happy note I weigh less than what’s printed on my driver’s license, and how many of us can honestly say that?
I bring this up because… well, now that it’s November, and the holiday season will soon be upon us, some of you may want to take this into consideration before adding me to your guest list for a holiday gathering. Or, if you are willing to take the chance, be prepared to find me a dimly lit place, away from your nice china and throw me some finger foods.
Don’t worry if it’s a more formal setting, I can still remember to discreetly check my hands under the table so I don’t mistakenly use the wrong bread plate or water glass…
I’ve lost control of motor functions, not my good sense.