When I say Chilli, I mean Chilli. Not Thai Sweet Chilli Sauce which is so sweet it should be considered a dessert sauce.
I am not going to go into one of those food documentary-type blog now. All am saying is, it pisses me off so much when people poke their cutleries into my food and expect it to be alright. I don't care what your social status or upbringing is - That is just not on. I don't want to be One Of Those People who moans about it when people poke into my food but I am. Even if I don't actually audibly moan. I might look at my lap and pull a face or turn to look at Jaz, pretending to look into his eyes across lovingly but what I was trying to tell him telepathically was 'What a fucking CUNT'. He knows. He would look like he was checking out the ceilings but what he was doing was half-way rolling his eyes, telepathically replying to me 'I know right!'. But poking into my plate is never as bad as poking into Jaz's plate of food, seeing that he is a Vegetarian and you poking your Omnivorous Cutleries into his Herbivorous one was just really fucking bang out of bloody order. Don't look at me hoping I would understand when he pushes his plate aside and walks away from the dinner table altogether. I'm a wuss in the sense that I will tolerate it, try to not pull a face or audibly tut but I will spend a few good hours moaning about it when we're away from said offender. I just don't like it. It pushes me to the point where I would actually turn into a child and cry. It's MY food and no one dips into MY plate. Unless of course, I was being very generous and I want to share my food, and this only happens amongst good friends or a person I have actually exchanged bodily fluids with.
I don't know... Is it upbringing? If I were to poke my finger into my mom's plate, seeing that we eat with our hands and not really cutleries unless it's a bowl of soup, I would get instantly slapped with the other hand that was not used for eating. I would get bawled at, be called a pig, have her finger point accusingly at my own plate of food and be questioned if I was in any way underfed until I have to touch her food, in the space of 5 seconds. Maybe I should start doing that at dinner parties. Had my younger brother touched my plate or stolen a piece of broccoli off my plate, there would be a punch-up and an ambulance would have been called. Was it manners my parents tried to teach us? We got slapped for chewing with our mouths open to the point where the face was so sore you ended up eating the rest of your face like a Mongoloid because your facial muscles would not function after said slap. My brother got kicked at a McDonald's when he was 4 for crying, because Mom did not get him the Happy Meal that he wanted, and I swear, he ended up under the table that was three tables next to us. I was shitting myself too much to even laugh but I was in awe of the superpower that was Mom. Yes, you can say she's one vicious, hard fucker, my Mom, but she knew what she was doing. She was raising two kids that possibly had the best table manners.
Last week, I was out at a social gathering and I had a bottle of Crabbie's Alcoholic Ginger Beer with me. Crabbie's can I be your spokesperson, because that was the lushest thing ever? So yes, I was out with my Crabbie's and a friend of mine asked me what it was. So I said, 'Crabbie's Alcoholic Ginger Beer' and she pointed to it and asked 'Oh, I've never had that.' and at that point, in my head I was thinking 'Well, yes that is fucking sad for you, you pathetic mortal.' and then she continued staring. I knew by then that I have to pass some to her and try to not gag at the thought that we will exchanging spit. I passed it to her, she took a swig. And fucking spat back into the bottle. SPAT. And said...
"Oh, it's Ginger-y. I don't like Ginger."
Really? Taking the fucking piss? I just said, "Oh haha. Sorry I failed to mention that it IS ginger. Looking that it IS ginger beer and all. But hey, nice top you've got there." And by that point I have pictured, in my mind, bashing my bottle of Crabbie's at the neck, and ramming the sharp broken bits into her jugular. Don't fuck with me when I'm riding on a Crabbie's buzz, woman.
Then I went to the bin, aimed and chucked my bottle with an unnecessary force until it clangs. Because I am such a petulant child like that. Some shit flew out of the bin and stuck to me but it was all right, I had made my point. I was not happy. MY CRABBIE'S.
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