The other day I had something happen that truly left me in a quandary. Since it happened I have found myself in a slow burn as I try to either rationalize or relive it so that I might have the opportunity to respond with a clear head. Before I explain, let me clarify that I am not in middle school, I am not even in high school. I am a college educated adult of gainful employment, with a spouse, 2 children, a mortgage and 2 pets. I like to think of myself as capable of making adult decisions.
I think you’ll understand my being perplexed when I found myself at a meal with 6 other adults, a 7 month old and a suprise pile of ham. What’s a suprise pile of ham you ask? Let’s see if I can explain it. I was feeding our 7 month old daughter while I ate the dinner Sean had set for me. It’s a back and forth that I am pretty accustomed to, but perhaps the person responsible for the surprise thought that my mind was taxed by the split focus of pureed prunes from a jar and a plate of food. I was nearly finished feeding the prunes to my daughter and just about finished with my own meal when I moved to take a bite of ham.
“Hmm, what’s this?” I thought. “I began with 2 slices of ham and now there is a heaping pyramid of ham on my plate. Literally heaping.”
I turned to Sean, “Did you put all this ham on my plate?” He looked at me as if I had lost my mind, because of course he had been the one to put the ham on my plate when he fixed it for me. Then he looked at my plate, the plate that he had prepared for me with 2 pieces of ham. I watched him think it through, quickly tabulating the amount of ham he could recollect giving me and the substantial load of ham that now occupied nearly every portion of surface area on the plate. He shook his head. “I honestly didn’t touch it.” He said to me.
“Who put the ham on my plate?” I asked aloud, thinking that whoever had done it might speak up, explain why they had done it. Perhaps an, “Oh, I was just putting it there while I buttered my bread.” Not that that would have made sense, but does tossing half a pound of ham on someone else’s plate make sense either?
Silence, then snickering. “Hmm, will anyone say anything?” I thought.
No. A table full of adults and no one said anything. It was like I was in some alternate reality, more like a cruel school yard prank or an episode of a conniving reality show, not a holiday meal. Lest you think that I am some sort of Nicole Ritchie eating disorder mess let me just say that I am a huge fan of eating. I am particularly fond of ham. However, I am not fond of eating to the point of pain or just eating loads of shit, or in this case, ham. Call me crazy but the feeling of anything more than air coming up with a burp distresses me. I did not eat the unasked for ham, nor did I get an explanation. Am I crazy? Would you have eaten the ham?
I do not like unasked for ham
I do not like it, Man-I-am
Do not like it here or there
I do not like it anywhere.
Not in your house, not on my blouse
Not here or there, not anywhere
I do not like unasked for ham
I do not like it, Man-I-am
Could you? Would you? In a bowl?
Could you? Would you? On a roll?
Could you? Would you? With a meal?
Could you? Would you? On some veal?
Not with a bowl. Not on a roll.
Not with a meal. Not on some veal.
Not in your house. Not on my blouse.
Oh, no!
Not with a fork. No more a’this pork.
No wait and see. You let me be!
I do not like unasked for ham!
I do not like it, Man-I-am!
I do not like unasked for ham!