Strategic Eating

I'm a firm believer in the idea that all people have a childhood habit they can't let go.  Stepping on a crack and immediately calling your mother to make sure she wasn't writhing on the floor with back pain.  Counting down the days until Christmas.  Running up the basement stairs before whatever creature waiting to grab you by the feet catches up to you.

I've never been adulthood's number one fan. Sure, I can rent a car, spend my money how I choose, stay up until 2am... But there's just something to lounging around in your mismatched pjs and having your dinner magically appear on the table.

The childhood habit that I can't abandon is strategic eating.  I like to eat...a lot. I'm no poster child for an anorexia PSA, but I should weigh at least 100 pounds heavier than I do. I approach eating the way I should, but don't, tackle work.  I survey my plate and rank the portions based on relative deliciousness (See Relative Deliciousness Eating Order Chart).

I then attack the worst of the bunch, getting it over with as if I was forced to drink a bottle of cough syrup.  Take that, dreaded spear of broccoli!  I'll ninja kick you half plate of haddock! When I finally reach the best part of my meal, I study it carefully. I pick away at any abnormalities and target the best bite, savoring it last.

I've done this for as long as I can remember. As an adult, I've always been convinced that noone would ever notice my strategic eating.  Taking a lesson from my college etiquette class, every now and then I sample bites of a different portion of my meal because I, the ever-mature adult, didn't play favorites.   I was as sneaky as a stealth fighter jet over the Iraqi desert.  

One day while halfway through eating a grilled cheese (by far, my favorite lunch meal and further evidence that I can't let go of childhood), my boyfriend piped up.  "What the hell are yooou doing? It seems like you are looking for a good bite."

I've been found out.

Panic-stricken, I thought of everyone who probably noticed my strategic eating.  Did my parents shake their heads apologetically to friends and family?   "I'm sorry about my daughter.  She's generally intelligent, so we let this slight sign of mental imbalance go."  My friends undoubtedly refer to me as Picky Eater Polly, or Can't Eat Like a Normal Human Being Carol.  They keep me around to watch like a circus freak  as I methodically stare at my sandwich.

I feel half embarrassed about my not-so-hidden childish habit.  But coming out of the strategic eating closet aside, I still fucking hate broccoli.