Eating with your hands

I’ve got a two-date streak with this guy I’m seeing, and both times we managed to eat without using silverware. On Date 1, we got takeout from Carrabba’s and took it to a park, only to realize much to our dismay there were no packets of utensils in the bags! Trying to make the best of it, and to avoid his embarrassment, I asked for his pocketknife to cut up my manicotti, which I scooped up with bread. That was almost dignifying for myself; but I couldn’t look at him without laughing at his puppy-dog face as he sheepishly nibbled his salad using his hands.

On Date 2, per his suggestion (and to my delight) we went to Medieval Times, the dinner/show. There, as part of the experience, we were told to look at our hands: “Meet your knife and fork for the evening”. Unlike the first date, we felt right at home using our hands to tear apart the half-chicken, spareribs, (so much for my halfhearted attempts at vegetarianism) and potato we were given. I felt something of a euphoria that I can only explain by the added tactile sensation of feeling my food before I ate it. It was as if I had previously been seeing in two dimensions, and finally woke up to 3-D sight. It was primal, yes, but more than that, it felt so right. I wonder if we are doing a disservice to children by teaching them to eat with a knife and fork. Just know, dear readers, that when you’re not looking, there’s a good chance I will be eating with my hands from now on. This must be the beginning of my decidedly unfeminine bad***ness.

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