Slip of the Wrist

Picture the scene.  A professional businesswoman attends a business luncheon honoring adult and student volunteers for one of her programs.  She’s dressed in a trendy black pant suit, “workable” heels, and fashionable jewelry.  She mingles and socializes, shakes hands and shows off her business finesse.  She thinks she’s stylin’.

Lunch approaches and she prepares her plate with a mixture of pizza and salad, with a helping of meatballs for good measure.  Ever the lady, she attempts to eat her pizza with a knife and fork.  As she prepares to cut one slice, her grip (ever so weak) slips from the fork and splays the slice of pizza into the other food on her plate.  The food proceeds to fly off of her plate and onto the table between herself and the person dining across from her.  She blushes, apologizes, and cleans up the mess.

The conversation, paused momentarily, begins again.  She returns to her plate of food and once again attempts to cut her slice of pizza.  Once again, food flies, primarily the other piece of pizza on her plate.  She’s mortified.  When it happens for the third and final time, she gives up and picks up the slice and eats it with her bare hands. 

This was my luncheon experience this past Friday.  I called my husband later and told him I wished he was there to cut my food for me.   You see, we have a long tradition of others cutting Kim’s food in my family history.  From early childhood, my dad would butter my bread for me – whether at home or in restaurants, he would cut my pork chops and more importantly, my steaks.  When my dad first met my now husband, he warned the hubby that the food preparation and cutting ritual would be passed on to him.  To this day, when we dine out -whether at a classy joint or the down home restaurants that speckle our little town – the hubby continues to butter my bread for me.  Yes, he can often be seen cutting my steak for me as well.

Little did I know that this family tradition, passed on to the next generation, would become part of my future.  Little did the hubby know that he’d have to spend time teaching me again, as if I were a little child, to grip my fork and knife and cut my food appropriately.