Friday, November 30, 2012
A couple of weeks after we were married, I decided that I would make a romantic dinner for my new husband. I got out the tablecloth with matching napkins and set the table with our new wedding china, silverware and candle sticks.
I spent the day getting the spaghetti sauce just right and made tons of meatballs, trying to get a few that were actually round and not too dry.
I showered to remove the garlic smell from my hair and put on a pretty, floor length dress. As the romantic music played on the tape deck (maybe I should have mentioned, this was back in the Stone Age), I dimmed the lights and lit the candles. Everything was perfect.
When Barry walked through the front door, I raced to hug him and show him what I had done. It was going to be a magical evening.
We sat down at the table and placed the spaghetti and meatballs on our plates. A few seconds later, I heard this chop, chop, chop sound. I looked over at Barry and he was chopping his spaghetti into tiny one inch segments. I smiled sweetly at him and said, "Honey, you're really supposed to eat your spaghetti like this." With my big spoon in my left hand and my fork in my right, I began to twirl the spaghetti around my fork. Then I held up my fork and just as I was about to take a bite...a long piece of spaghetti unwrapped and glued itself, with a massive amount of red sauce, to my cheek. I was horrified and so stunned, I didn't move and neither did the spaghetti.
After Barry realized I wasn't going to burst into tears, he started laughing hysterically. For years after that, anytime we would have spaghetti, Barry would ask, "Now, how am I supposed to eat spaghetti?" To this day, I still wince a little when I see spaghetti. And if you see me eating at your local Olive Garden, more often than not, you will probably hear a chop, chop, chop...coming from my plate.