AT ISSUE: Is oneís plate of food really his or her own, or is it for more than you expected?
If my dinner doesnít consist of Ramen noodles or doesnít come from a box with the word Nabisco on it, you can bet money that Iím eating a meal outside of my room. It could be anywhere on campus, in the city or back home in Toledo. The point is Iím eating in a sit-down restaurant for a change. I have a menu in front of me, and I can order whichever delectable entrÈe I choose. Once it comes to me, the food is all mine. I canít wait to scarf it down like a gentleman. All of a sudden, the woman next to me extends her fork in my personal space and commandeers one of my steak fries. Does this sound like larceny to you? It happens quite frequently to me, and the culprit happens to be my girlfriend.
Before I begin to pick apart this habit of hers, I should first mention that she is the world to me. Julie means more to me than any girl has before her, and she is a perfect fit for me. I couldnít live without her, and Iím extremely lucky to even know her and grace the same ground that she does. Now that I have that out of the way, letís begin to harshly criticize this trait of the girl whom I love dearly.
Like Iíve said before, the food I order is strictly mine. Iím very territorial about this. The server asks me, ìWhat would you like?î I am not asked, ìWhat would you like 97 percent of, with the other three percent stolen by your significant other?î At first, I just think to myself that she does this to merely piss me off. If thatís the case, then itís probably just pay-back for every time I froze her computer.
Itís not like sheís unwilling to share her dinner. She always asks me if I want a taste. I respectfully decline the offer every time.
My reasoning on food sharing centers around one central thesis, and it needs to be written in 24-point, boldfaced, capitalized text to capture its full effect: ìIf I wanted what you had, I would have ordered it!î If a taste of her meal would satisfy me, then Julie and I would share dinners, there would be no controversy, and I would have had to write about something not as funny this week.
I have a gut feeling that some of you have this same problem. You like to hunker over your soup and salad. You gather up all the napkin holders in the dining area and build a fort to protect outside consumers from leeching off your platter. That is why they made forks pointy enough to repel the person sitting next to you, but not sharp enough to break skin. But wait a minute! Put that chicken wire down. I have some ways to circumvent disaster.
One way is to write an article about it in the BG News. Obviously, this isnít a very common one, as I am the only one pathetic enough to do it. There is a better idea, and I have done this before, but rarely. Let her order before you. Put that ìladies firstî phrase into action. Listen to her order. If that sounds remotely good, tell the server ìIíll have that as well.î Your problem is cleverly solved. She then has no reason to be near your plate.
There is one exception, and I wholeheartedly support this move. During the ordering process, you and your dining partner may agree on ìsharingî a meal. Sometimes the portions are too much for one stomach, and it requires teamwork to finish that plate of pasta. The deal is made before the completion of your dinner order, and everybody is satisfied with what they will eat.
I think Iíve thoroughly explained my case, but I donít have enough time to delve into her inclination to take a ìsipî of my Pepsi, regardless of where I am. I donít have any theories on girlfriends leeching off their boyfriendsí beverages. I just have one statement to Julie, aside from loving her: ìStop it!î
