And if I Win the Eating Contest?

Okay, so last week I promised that I would write a blog about why it’s bad to eat like a bird when you’re on a date. I’ll give you a list and then a story.

1. It gives the gentleman you’re on a date with a false estimate as to how much you’re going to cost to feed whether you pay for yourself or he does.
2. You’ll be underfed and weak if you need to beat the ever-living Hell out of him before the night is through.
3. Are you really planning on marrying the guy and starving for the rest of your life because you can’t eat in front of him?
4. This is where the feminine revolution really comes in handy. We can admit to being human – yay! (as a nice bonus, we also don’t have to wear corsets or girdles anymore – unless we want to)
5. And lastly, eating the way you want will allow you to enjoy your date a lot more (his off-key remarks don’t sound nearly as irritating on a full stomach).

As a teenager, I actually did this – ate like a bird – in front of boys who weren’t my brother for three whole years of dating. If there was even one datable guy in the room, I’d avoid the buffet, keep walking past the giant Subway sub, skimp on dinner and cost my date less than $3 to feed.

However, when dating my husband, I actually dated him for two months before I realized that we were dating. You see, he had this whole forbidden fruit thing going on and I had to keep it a secret that I was wildly attracted to him. So, I ate normally around him in an effort to keep him a friend rather than turn him into a boyfriend I would certainly regret.

I don’t think there was a happier time in my life than when he revealed that he loved me, too, except I didn’t know how to eat in front of him. I had eaten normally thus far, which is to say that I ate as much as I wanted with my fingers as opposed to perfect table manners keeping my fork in my left hand and my knife in my right hand.

The walls came clattering down. We were at a youth conference where they served sloppy joes – really sloppy ones. He probably hadn’t noticed how I ate before, but he certainly would now. And one of my old ex-boyfriends was staring at me across the room. I sat there and looked at my jo. My boyfriend was chowing down on his completely unaware that I was deathly uncomfortable, staring down my sandwich. What was I going to do? I wanted to see that boy all the time – every day – and I would die if I didn’t eat properly. I shoved it in my face and to my ultimate shame, sauce dribbled down my chin.

And I lived happily ever after.