Adventures in Babyholding II: “JOEY DOESN’T SHARE FOOD”
When I was 20, I was a pretentious college junior prone to trying to work the word “ontological” into the conversation naturally. My friend Deanna was a new mom who correctly deduced that I was becoming a prat and thus would try to distract me by suggesting that I interact more with her four-month-old daughter.
Deanna: Do you want to burp her?
Me: No.
Deanna: Why don’t you change her diaper?
Me: No.
Deanna [handing me what appeared to be a miniature turkey baster]: Here, you can suction the snot out of her nose.
Me: Jeez, Dee, I’m not your wife!
As a result, Deanna came to the mistaken conclusion that I was either afraid of or had an aversion to her baby, when in fact it was just that I was either afraid of had an aversion to accidentally touching poop.
One evening in December, I was invited to go out to dinner with Deanna, her two sisters Michelle and … Pearl (hey, it’s hard to come up with a whole bunch of aliases), her mom Helen, Michelle’s 16-year-old daughter Emma, Michelle’s friend who doesn’t figure into the story and so won’t get a name, and Pearl’s boyfriend Tom. We went to a crowded trattoria, where we were seated in two adjacent booths. Deanna held her sleeping baby in her lap while she tried to eat a plate of spaghetti bolognese, and I have to say, it was quite the spectacle. She had to sit far back enough so as not to have the baby under the table, but because she was an inept spaghetti twirler, she held the fork up over her plate and tried to trapeze the individual strands into her mouth. Sometimes I am really sorry that we didn’t have YouTube in the ’80s. In short order, I took pity on her and offered to hold the baby while she ate. She asked, “are you sure?” because evidently I was her best friend but also a monster. “Yes,” I said. She handed me the baby. I held the baby. The end.
But wait, there’s more. You are probably wondering how it was that I could hold the baby when Deanna couldn’t. Didn’t I have my own plate of spaghetti to deal with? Well, yes. Also, no.
First Important Piece of Background Information: Glamour Magazine has a feature called the “How To Do Anything Better Guide.” For the record, I don’t read Glamour Magazine anymore because I’m not really interested in winning a makeover from the Kardashian sisters or creating an entire month of work outfits out of only one pair of pants and two dozen scarves. But back when I did read Glamour magazine, I used to like the How To Do Anything Better Guide because it had useful pieces of information, like, “How To Jump Start Your Car Like a Pro,” or “How To Trim Your Own Bangs Like a Pro,” which saved me thousands of dollars over the years in professional jump-starting and bang-trimming fees, or at least it would have if I didn’t have AAA and face-framing layers. Also, in this section, they regularly featured a “Sticky Situation of the Month,” done in a question-and-answer format. For example,
Dear Glamour,
My friend is always trying to get me to change her baby’s diaper. I like babies, but I don’t think I’d enjoy changing one’s diaper. How can I tell her without damaging our friendship?
Ontologically yours,
A Long-Time Reader from Seattle, WA
Dear Long-Time Reader,
Tell her you’re not her wife.
Love,
Glamour
Second Important Piece of Background Information: As far as I know, Deanna’s mom Helen has never not been on a diet. She’s not particularly overweight, maybe 15 pounds or so, but she has also never lost even a single ounce. Why this is will become apparent shortly.
Third Important Piece of Background Information: In the issue of Glamour Magazine that was current at the time of the dinner/babyholding, the following Sticky Situation of the Month appeared:
Dear Glamour:
My friend and I often go out to lunch in a restaurant. If we order different things to eat, she always asks if she can have a bite of mine. I do not eat from other people’s plates and I do not think it’s polite for someone to ask to eat from mine. How can I tell her without damaging our friendship?
Yours truly,
Germ-Free and Staying That Way in Wichita, KS
Dear Germ,
The next time she asks for some of your food, try saying, “you know, I have been looking forward to having a full portion of this for myself all day long. Why don’t we order another one of these for you?” That way, you can both enjoy your lunch out and neither one of you will feel deprived!
Love,
Glamour
I am now prepared to answer the question I pretended you asked about where my spaghetti was.
When we arrived at the restaurant, Deanna and the baby, her mom Helen, her niece Emma, and I were sitting in one booth. In the booth behind Helen were Michelle and her nameless friend and Pearl and her boyfriend Tom. Deanna order the aforementioned spaghetti bolognese, Emma ordered whatever, I ordered spaghetti carbonara, and Helen ordered a large salad because she was dieting. Before the pasta came out, the waiter brought all of us small salads. Helen told the waiter she was having a large salad for her entree so she didn’t want the small salad. He took the small salad back and brought her a large salad in a Jethro Bodine sized bowl. She was mostly finished by the time our pasta was brought out, and those of us who had eaten with Helen before understood that this meant that we should begin eating as fast as we possibly could. I started to hoover my spaghetti carbonara, but it was no use. She was staring at me, I could feel it.
I look up and Helen is making that crinkly-eyed, hidden tooth smile that can mean only one thing.
Helen: How is it?
Internal Voice: Here we go.
Me: It’s okay.
Helen: Looks good!
Internal Voice: **sigh**
Me: Would you like some?
Helen [pushing her bread plate 3/4 of an inch towards me]: Maybe just a taste.
Internal Voice [watching myself push plate of carbonara all the way across the table so that Helen can remove half of it]: Nooooo! My spaaaaghetttttti …
Once I finished eating what was left, I had plenty of time for baby-holding. The end.
But wait, there’s more. The waiter arrives with the dessert cart. Deanna gets cheesecake with raspberry coulis, Emma gets chocolate cheesecake, I get the plain New York cheesecake because that is cheesecake the way God intended, and Helen gets nothing because she’s dieting. I am still too despondent over the loss of my pasta to eat quickly, but this gives me an opportunity to observe Helen observing the table. Her eyes begin to crinkle and I begin to eat faster. Suddenly, Emma looks up to see that her grandmother is smiling at her without teeth.
Helen: How is it?
Emma: It’s good.
Helen: Hmmm?
Emma: I SAID IT’S GOOD.
Deanna [heroically]: Mom! Do you want some of my raspberry cheesecake?
Helen: No, I don’t like raspberries. But …
Internal Voice: Not me not me not me not me not me not me not me not me
Helen: I would like a bite of Emma’s dessert.
Emma [taking deep breath]: Grandma? I have been looking forward all day to having a whole piece of chocolate cheesecake all to myself. Why don’t we order another one of these for you?
Internal Voice: GLAMOUR MAGAZINE! GLAMOUR MAGAZINE!
After that, all hell broke loose. Helen got this look on her face to indicate that she’d just been stabbed in the heart. In the booth behind us, Pearl asked Michelle if she’d heard what her horrible daughter had just said to their mother and then in an insulting high-pitched imitation said, “Grandma! I want to eat this chocolate cheesecake all by myself. Get your own chocolate cheesecake!” Helen continued to look around, confused and gravely wounded. Tom, who had also ordered chocolate cheesecake, shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Michelle got up and came to our booth to give Emma the evil eye. And Emma? That girl sat there stoically, looking at no one, and resolutely and methodically ate her chocolate cheesecake. They gave her hell for that night for years, but Helen never again asked for a bite of Emma’s food.
Oh, and then I gave Helen the rest of my cheesecake. Because she looked at me and I was afraid not to. The end.
But wait, there’s more. A poll:
(But only if you are reading this on my blog. If you are reading this on a reader, then there is no poll. It’s the end. There is no more.)
I know every episode of Friends and totally remember the JOEY DOESN’T SHARE FOOD!! : -)
I cannot take your poll because we always order way too much so everyone can eat everything and there are always leftovers. Problem with this is, we can’t afford to eat out a lot.
However. I would never ask for a bite of someone’s food unless I knew them well enough to know it would be OK.
Joey also carried a fork around in his shirt pocket, just in case.
I wouldn’t ask either if I only knew the person casually. One time I was sitting near a guy eating breakfast in a restaurant and a business associate (I assume anyway, based on their conversation) came in. The second guy ordered breakfast, but after about five minutes, he said something about not being able to wait because he had to be somewhere else. Then he said, “maybe I could just have a little of yours.” Fortunately, the waitress showed up with his food, which made it less awkward, but not by much.
I’m the opposite; I don’t ever mind sharing my food, but I almost never want a bite off anyone else’s plate. It usually creates a weird moment when someone snags a bite of my food, then I turn them down when they offer a bite of theirs in return.
I am really liking that scenario for some reason. I see it turning into a big fight between you and your girlfriend or a coworker because they are mortally offended that you wouldn’t take a bite of their burrito.
Asking for a bite of someone else’s food. No doubt.
There are exceptions to this, like when my sister and I go out for a meal we almost always end up sampling each other’s dish, but that’s because it’s fun and not because one of us is indoctrinated into diet culture so hard that we are afraid of food.
If there’s one thing I would never say, it would be that Helen is afraid of food. She definitely wasn’t afraid of my spaghetti carbonara. Or Tom’s gnocchi.
P.S. Emma is my new favorite person.
She was an interesting girl. She was heavily into punk culture as a teenager, and I was pretty certain she wouldn’t live to see 21. By 30, she was an office manager who busted out the mom jeans on every casual Friday.
I love all of this. As an adult, I have never had anyone but my son and husband ask for a bite of my food. I guess I would give someone some if they had the nerve to ask, but the OCD in me would mentally wish for everyone to get clean spoons before the transaction takes place.
Thinking back to my younger days, at a bar, friends were all more than happy to give each other a sip of this drink or that one…Yet the same friends would never drink out of the other friend’s can of coke in their dining room. I’m just sayin’.
Helen was a special case, but in general I don’t mind sharing. Which is strange considering that I’m a pretty committed germophobe.
The drinks thing reminds me of a time when a friend asked me for a sip of my Long Island Iced Tea. This was AFTER he had told me that he had accidentally used his roommate’s Chap Stick and now he was afraid he had herpes. I didn’t want to say no to his request, but I also didn’t want herpes, so I took a long last swig and then gave him the rest of the drink.
It’s always the herpes roommate that throws you off of sharing. Mine was Katie. Or Cold Sore Katie, as I affectionately referred to her behind her back. Therefore, I only share finger foods.
I am less likely to want to share finger foods. I have noticed that others aren’t as enthusiastic about hand-washing as I am. Sing “Happy Birthday” in your head two times, people!
So tough…but I had to say “equally rude” because I had to take the question totally at face value. (Obviously in the situation you’ve described, there’s no question about who was ruder.)
Sharing is good, says this mom. But in the same situation, I might have made the same choice.
I guess I think “equally rude” as well, but it’s counterintuitive because if asking is rude, then how can refusing be rude? And yet, it kind of is. But really, I think both are only mildly rude at worst. Asking for a bite doesn’t bother me; it’s the people who go out for a lunch run and then say, “I didn’t get fries for myself because I don’t want a whole order. I’LL JUST EAT HALF OF YOURS.”
Putting anything on cheesecake is like putting a tuxedo on Michelangelo’s David. It may look nice, but it’s just wrong.
By the way, are you going to eat all of that?
Also, it’s hard to get David’s arms in the tux.
Suddenly I’m having a flashback of grade school lunchrooms and this girl named Tina who had a face like a bull putting her thumb in my chocolate cake and asking if I was going to eat it.
Incidentally, shouldn’t you be writing a two-part post right about now? It could be about babyholding. You have all the materials!
Now that I think about it, I seem to eat out with people who always order too much. They then try to foist the extra onto me. Me, who has ordered exactly the amount of food I want to eat (and consequently don’t want to share).
On the other hand, it is not unusual for my SO and me to order one appetizer, one entree, and one dessert, and share them. But then, we swap spit on a regular basis.
Speaking of bad food combos, have you ever had a mashed potato pizza? I took a slice to be polite, ate two bites, then decided I was not wasting my pizza quota on that.
I tend to order too much as well, but it’s probably because I once had a bad experience in an Italian restaurant.
I feel about pizza the way I feel about cheesecake. Only a very narrow range of toppings is acceptable and mashed potatoes is not on the list. Similarly, I will not eat a Mexican pizza or a barbecued chicken pizza. I’m not a dough-sauce-cheese-only person, but if someone puts corn on their pizza, I am going to have questions.
@Jenn: Herpes Roommate! AAAAHHHHHH!!!
I still get search referrals from the time Jenn talked about getting food poisoning from Wing Stop in my comments. I sense this will be worse.
I don’t think it is rude to ask someone for a bite, but if they say no, you have to let it go. And the key word here is “bite.” You don’t take half of someone’s food.
In the reverse situation where one person wants someone else to try their food and the second person declines, the idea of not letting it go appeals to me (but only if I weren’t involved in any way). I just think it would be entertaining to watch.
My son used to inwardly freak the hell out if someone wanted a bite of his sandwich or sip of his drink. It’s sort of an OCD thing. He gradually got over it. Just the other day, he offered me a sip of this new dark ale he got, because he swore it tasted like Boston cream pie. (He was right. He should be a professional beer taster.) I don’t mind sharing, but only with people I’m close to. I’d never ask a coworker for some of their food, and I’d certainly never offer.
A bite of sandwich is far worse than just sticking a fork into something. I don’t want someone’s mouth on my food. This reminds me of when I went to a baseball game with a bunch of coworkers and one of them asked me for a bite of my hot dog. We were on friendly terms, but not hot dog sharing terms. Nonetheless, I handed him my hot dog, and he proceeded to turn it around and take a bite from the other end. Which worked out great, but only for him.
I hate sharing with other people. I will however, let my dog lick my ice cream cone and eat from my fork. How do you feel about inter-species food sharing?
My cat and I shared food. I mean, I didn’t eat out of her bowl or anything, but I would roast a chicken and she’d let me have the neck or maybe a wing. So I feel okay about inter-species sharing, but we will never feel as good about it as they do.
I don’t think I’ve ever asked for a bite of someone’s food except for from my sister or husband, but in either grouping there is the agreement that we are usually ordering to share. (Unless say it’s the same place we always go to so we know what everything tastes like).
I usually offer bites, but holy cow you NEVER take more than a bite if you’re offered. That shit is just rude. None of my friends are big “dieters” so I have never had a Helen. That would annoy the ever loving hell out of me. I kind of love Emma now and hope that she is still as gutsy as ever.
I was really surprised at how badly what Emma said went over. I thought it was pretty reasonable, considering that everyone knows Helen probably would have left her with nothing but a scraped-out crust. In general though, I would say it’s easier just to hand the food over.
When I eat out with my mom, we usually order one thing and split it because restaurant meals are so huge and my mom is tiny. Servers hate us.
I loved this post! Most chronic food ‘tasters’ I have dealt with have been women who are chronic dieters–like you note, they order a big, juicy salad, and then proceed to eat 3/4ths of every other diner’s. One woman I knew in college was so bad that she would be undeterred when attacking other diner’s chips or nachos even by deliberately rude comments like: “wow, I was really hungry and would have liked to have finished that” or “I haven’t eaten all day.” I think the screwed-up thinking is that “I am doing them a favor by eating their calories.”
I actually like sharing food, for variety’s sake, provided the other person is ‘on board’ with me–the only time I didn’t was when I was a dieter, and had carefully ‘counted’ the portion I had allotted for myself that day. One amusing way to fuck with a dieter’s mind who is supposed to eat 12 cashews on some silly diet plan is to help yourself to two of the biggest in her stash.
Not to mention that restaurant salads are pretty much the worst food a dieter can eat unless they’re on a plan that requires them to eat 2000 calories in one sitting. But for the most part, I don’t think I’ve spent too much time with dieters. Almost everyone I know eats like they’re in an episode of Wild Kingdom.