I admit to being the worst finicky eater to sit down at anyone’s table. My toddler mealtimes were negotiating sessions and sometimes would get violent. “Yum, yum, creamed asparagus!” Mommy would coo and pretend to eat some. “Here comes the choo-choo,” she’d say and I’d be appalled to see the spoon bearing down on me with that foul-tasting green slime.
My coordination was still undeveloped, but I was able to improvise some defensive maneuvers. I found, by blowing full force at the precise moment, I could create a green tornado that sent the family scurrying about with towels and a mop. The asparagus looked much more interesting splattered across Daddy’s white shirt. Perhaps that’s how Baby Jackson Pollock was inspired.
As I grew older I resorted to subterfuge as a dinner guest with sleight of hand and diversionary tactics. Sometimes I walked away from the hostess’ table with half the meal secreted about my person, cuffs stuffed with grilled squash and a mutton chop in my back pocket. I once tried to recruit the host’s dog as an accomplice but he bit me when I offered him a candied mango.
I faced the worst challenge in my finicky life as a guest at a very formal dinner hosted by my old friend James. I wished I could have enjoyed the exotic meal. The other guests were praising its yumminess and asking for seconds while I was transferring it to my pockets which soon reached maximum capacity. I was eventually down to relying on my roomy jaws and my controlled breathing in my attempt to spare the host’s feelings as well as my digestive system.
Eventually, I became desperate! If only I could reach a restroom to jettison these menu items ! I finally managed to catch host James’ eye, hoping he could guide me to the banquet hall’s facility.
I’d assumed he’d interpreted my desperate plea, but instead, I was stunned to see him rise and hear him announce, “Your Eminence, Senator McDowdy, Reverend Father, ladies and gentlemen, my very good friend Gene Newman, a popular bloggest, has just informed me he would like to say a few words. Fifty-two heads turned my way.
I was able to mutter a mere half sentence before I gagged on a breaded artichoke. As I passed out, I heard James shout, “Does anyone know how to apply the Heimlich maneuver?”
I heard later it was Senator McDowdy who cleared my windpipe. He can count on my vote from now on.
Imagine That 