Thursday, June 15, 2006

Friday, foibles and the down right strange.


I posted some time ago about eating stuff mixed up. I'm against it!
I don't mind different things on a plate, I'm not mad, but I like to eat stuff one thing at a time. Like if I had a breakfast of sausages, beans, rashers, mushrooms, fried eggs and toast, I would start with the eggs-making sure to not touch the yolk which I hate- then mushrooms, then...well you get the picture.
I have eaten like this for many years, so I don't find it remotely odd and am inclined to forget it looks strange to others.
I also have a serious phobia about ink and newspapers. On Sundays when I get the papers, I bring a big bag so I can put the newspaper in it (cuts down on the handling) And I never read them until seated at a big table where in I can peruse at leisure, opening and turning each page using the tiniest tip.
I have another few, but I don't want to appear loopy so I"m not telling you.
However last night I was called out on the food thing. I was mocked and ridiculed by a so called 'friend' -you know who you are, you French Twat- and my paramour, my so called would be husband did nothing, except to say, 'relax honey' and 'Why are you getting so mad?'
Caesar salad. I like it, but not with crutons. There, what's the big fucking deal? I don't like crunchy stuff mized up with slimey stuff. I don't mind crunchy stuff on its own, but not mixed. How can people eat like that? One second your tongue is going ummmm, slimy, and next thing you know its slithering to a complicated stop over a gravely rough surface.
Impossible.
So I said to the waitress, 'I don't want any crutons on mine.'
And she goes, 'Oh but it is a ceaser salad.'
And I go, 'great, but no crutons, and no anchovies please.'
Then Frenchy-the great buffoon- sort of snorts through his big Gallic nose.
And I go 'What?'
'Notheenng, you are beeeing silly.'
'I don't like crunchy stuff in salad.'
'Zen is not Caesar.'
'It is, but without crutons.'
'Pffffp'
I smile stiffly at the girl and she gets the message and high tails it.
Then the stupid Paramour laughs because FG is rolling his eyes like he had parvo-virus.
'She eez ze only person I know zat put gravy next to ze food, snoff snoff snoff'(that's his french laugh).
Normally I would let this slide, but because of the week I've had and the humour I was in I didn't.
'Is it okay with you if I order my food the way I like it?'
This last line must have accidently come out louder and with more vehemence than I had anticipated, (didn't Freud say there are no accidents?)
They gawp, and Tara, who makes up the foursome glances at me in surprise. She hasn't really been following the conversation because she is trying to catch the eye of some squat bloke with arms like Popeye standing at the bar.
'Are you all right?'
'Yes-' I actually hissed that word. 'I don't see what's so fucking weird about not wanting crutons in my god damned salad.'
'Honey relax.' The paramour says.
Allright, actually, this is another one of them. I really hate to be told to relax, like I've had an attack of the vapours or something, it's so patronizingly dismissive. It's like poking me with a pointy stick.
'You relax.' I snarl. (you see how impossible I am in a snit)
'Why are you getting so mad?'
'I'm not mad, I just don't like crutons in my salad!' I yell, madly.
There is a distinct silence, the same sort or silence you'd expect if you walked in and found your parents having sex on the family sofa. A stunned sickening shocked silence.
Now I have a choice, I can carry on in a normal voice, or rack the hysteria up to another new level. Years ago I would have flounced off home, years ago I would have pulled FG across the table by his long sideburns and stuffed a breadroll into his big yap.
The ball is in my court.
I clear my throat, take a sip of wine and say.'Sorry, I don't know what the hell that was about.'
I force a laugh, Tara smiles at me, the paramour visibly relaxes...and the French Gay?
'Mon ami' He pats the paramour on the forearm, 'ooofff, such high maintenance zis one.'
I resist the urge to kick him in the shin. I'm a grown up, see? A grown up.

31 Comments:

Blogger Dr Maroon said...

Presumably then, watching someone dip their sausage into the yolk, then spearing a bit of toast smeared with bean-juice, then finishing their impromptu fork-kabab with a bit o ham before trying to get it all into their gaping mouth while simultaneously reading the Daily Mirror at the table in an unshaven vest-wearing state, would be a bit of a turn off for you?

9:59 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Bleeee! I would stare at them in horror. Of course I know you are too classy a piece of Totty for that kind of carry on, aren't ya Red?

10:08 a.m.  
Blogger Dr Maroon said...

Wha? Eh, of course I am. Absolument!

10:15 a.m.  
Anonymous MacDara said...

I have to say agree with stupid French Bloke you are a bit high maintenance . Some what like Sally from that stupid movie about Harry. Certain food stuffs are meant to be combined and every thing tastes better in a slice of Bread.

By eating each food separately you are denying your mounth the firework display of flavours that makes life worth living.

11:05 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Arf, I am not. I just have thing I don't like. Don't you have things you don't like yer hawtness, or are you so laid back you're horizontal?

11:12 a.m.  
Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

I don't like the bit round the edge of the bean sauce where the runny yolk and the sausage grease comingle, but mostly I don't like the cigarette butt sticking out of the egg yolk.

When I was a student I had to work in the union to make ends rendezvous, wave and say, no not this week, maybe next month ends will meet. It was hard, sweaty kitchen work but I'd have gladly doubled my time at that if I hadn't had to take the trolley out and clear up the student leavings from the tables. Cigarette stubbed out in beans or egg, or a dribble of milky tea in a saucer with a stray bean or meat product made me want to vomit regularly.
Students are, without a doubt, the filthiest of all God's creatures.

11:55 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

I don't have a single good thing to say about student, Mrs Bride. The loud obnoxious vomiting fucktards. Years ago a whole slew of them moved into one of the apartments in this building and they were the filthiest hash-smokingiest loud music playing-iest ring the wrong doorbell inthemiddleofthenght-iest shower of skanks I ever had the misfortune to come across. And their boring conversation in the lift if you had the horror to be trapped in there with them would cause you to die of sheer stupidity.
'Sis ya see Cathel boy, he was totally fucin' spaced boy.'
'Did ya see him boy?"
'Fuck yea, he was totally spaced.'
'He was totally spaced.'
'Totally spaced.'
Totally.'
It always reminded me of that scene when the soldier is dying in The World According To garp. You imagine the conversation winding down until finally the shaggy haired oiks are just grunting letters at each other.

12:16 p.m.  
Blogger Andraste said...

Oh FMC - I feel you. I don't have any problems with mixing foods, though I think anchovies are absolutely disgusting and I can take or leave crutons, now that I've discovered shaved almonds as a salad topping.

I also don't much enjoy having my picadillos pointed out to me, and laughed about, in public. Oh, and someone telling me to "relax" after they've had a good but unfair laugh at my expense? Makes me VIOLENT. And I have the same issue with newspaper ink, I must spread it out, and turn the pages using the un-inked edges, so that I don't end up with ink all over myself.

It's funny, though, isn't it...if you'd had a better week or were in a slightly different mood, you probably could have laughed along with them, perhaps pointing out some weird 'thing' that they have.

It's like when I'm walking down the street and some asshole whistles at me or makes a lewd comment. Depending on my mood, I can either smile, wave, then flip him the bird, or just absolutely blow up, shouting invective and gesticulating rudely, like a madwoman.

Funny, innit.

2:36 p.m.  
Anonymous Mac said...

Well I hate my boss if that counts. Stupid mother fucker. And he has now started reading my blog but still hasn't figured out its me despite the fact I have my picture all over it. A more stupid man i have never met in my entire existence and he is from Cork. My god please some body take him away.

And I also hate people that eat beside me when I'm in a pub watching the world cup.

2:38 p.m.  
Blogger Betty the Sheep said...

When I was a kid I used to sometimes eat everything on my plate separately. My uncle saw me eating that way one day and told me that I'd make a good pharmacist when I grew up.

I absolutely fricken hate it when someone tells me to relax or chill. It makes my blood boil when I'm in that kind of mood. Your paramour is lucky that he didn't end up with a fork in the thigh. :)

4:15 p.m.  
Blogger Kim Ayres said...

When I was a kid I loved having a dinner sandwich, where I would put a bit of everything on my plate in a piece of bread - sausage, mash and beans all mixed together. MMMmmm.

4:56 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Goodevening chaps and chapesses. And a fine start to the weekend to y'all!
Funny, I asked one of the girls in my gym about the 'relax' thing and she says nothing makes her blood boil more than being told to relax. And this lady teaches folk to swin and is trhe sweetest natured person I've EVER met. I hate it, I really do. It's like throwing petrol on a dying flame.
Ha Miss Andraste, that's me to a tee, if I'm feeling dandy and someone says some shit I laugh and it rolls off me like water off a duck. But catch me with the black dog tagging along and you will feel my wrath.

5:47 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

And Kim, yeach!

5:47 p.m.  
Blogger SafeTinspector said...

See, I can see your point. You have every right to get angry at someone telling you how you should eat your food.
But then you tell Doc you'd stare in horror at someone enjoying food in a way you don't like.
Seems a double standard.

All this is leading up to my confession, and I don't want to be juged:
I'm a food mixer. My wife always rolls her eyes, but no matter what meal I get I always cut it up and mix it all together.
Sausage, eggs, potatos and hot sauce. Mmmm!
Mashed potatos, steak, carrots and celery? All at once, please!
Burrito with sour cream, rice and salsa? In one lump, thank you.

12:22 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Stares in horror, makes loud comments...hum, no comparison really.

5:33 p.m.  
Anonymous punxxi said...

the french waiter was standing there? you didn't reach out and crush his dimmunitive french nuts into oblivion? you were in a better mood than you thought, then.how crass, to tell someone else how to eat, it is one of lifes main pleasures,and just because i stick my face in my plate and eat like a ravenous pit bull is no reason to get testy with me, unless yiou'd like to be de-testy'd.

10:13 p.m.  
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