I am a messy eater. I can't recall if I've outed myself about this here or not, but it doesn't matter.
I am, and I don't care.
That alone is something for which to be grateful.
Yesterday we went for a drive out west and had lunch in Nordegg. I had a chicken caesar salad and a Coke. The server had warned me it was big. She was not kidding. It was piled high as a haystack on the plate.
A forkful or two in something happened. I either speared it wrong or my fork slipped because several croutons jumped up and made good their escape to the floor.
I looked down to find a ring of them around my chair as though I were in the middle of a protective spell.
I'm used to this sort of thing. I can get as much food on the floor, table, or various parts of my face and clothing as I do in my mouth.
Oh, sure I've tried to fix it, but nothing works.
I eat slowly. When I try to add carefully to the mix it simply underscores the resulting mess so I rarely bother.
A few bits of lettuce slipped onto the table. Those were eaten while trying to escape.
At one point a small bit of something flew up into my eye.
Annoying as it was at least it was something new.
Bits of salad landed in my lap at times as well. I shook my head and ploughed on.
I ate most of it, but could not finish it so gave it to my husband while I finished my Coke.
When we got up to leave I managed to tip the glass over sending the ice cubes skittering along the table.
The server more than earned her tip.
Most people would be embarrassed about this sort of thing.
I made the choice years ago to embrace my mess. I have tried to be a neat eater, but it simply does not work out. Further, I like messy food.
I am grateful I have this outlook. It makes life fun.
The City on the Edge of Forever (1967)
1 hour ago