I never seemed to realize my expertise in table etiquette until Cam. Growing up we would get a stink eye if our elbows grazed the table and a punishment if we even dared to touch our food with the wrong form of silverware. It’s not necessarily like we had seven forks and three different spoons lined up around our plates, but we knew our way around a butter knife and a salad fork. Unlike, seemingly, the rest of the world…
I was an innocent 15 when the dreamy kid from my AP math class finally asked me out. Cam would pick me up in his new car that Friday, and we would go to dinner and a movie.
Cam drove a red mustang. He brought me a single flower; it wasn’t a rose. The playlist in the background, was perfect. All signs were pointing to an enjoyable night. Until, of course, dinner. We sat down at the sushi restaurant and we ordered our rolls with edamame as an appetizer. It was all over by the first moment I saw him reach out for the edamame. His teeth ground the leafy green food and smacked as he double dipped his already dripping remains into the shared soy sauce.
Smacking, saliva flying, smacking, hands in mouth, picking, wiping, disgusting.
I didn’t make it to the movie. There was no need for a horror film after watching him eat dinner.