The other day while on a telephone call with my sister Shannon, I unconsciously picked up from the counter, and nibbled on, what I took to be a piece of cheddar. It was not, o god, a piece of cheddar. I spat it out. It was, I think, a bit of shpleck cut from the inside of a red pepper, who knows how long ago. Blerrrrrgggh.
This - the semi-conscious picking up of little things and trying to eat them - is a very bad habit I have inherited from my mother, the queen of nibbling on suspicious crumbs without really thinking. Here are two examples which are hallowed in family lore.
The Counter Caper
While talking on the phone (you see? you see?) Mom feels compelled to let her fingers rove around the counter looking for crumbs. Num num. The fingers pick up what, in their estimation, is a delicious morsel. Pinch. Lift to mouth. Chew. CAT FOOD, TUNA!!
The Christmas Nuts
Every Christmas, the Christmas pyramid is lit, a German tradition with a German Weihnachts pyramide, imported from Germany. It involves a number of candles, which give off enough heat to drive a balsa-wood propellor, which revolves to whirl a bunch of nativity figures about. It's terrifically christmas-ish - "a wonderful combination of the true Christmas spirit and mechanical fantasy." You should get one.
So, I've mentioned candles. Moving on. On the coffee table, hard by the pyramid, is a bowl of nuts. Mmm, pre-shelled nuts. Not unusual for the time of year. Mom is gazing off into space, perhaps the fire, I can't recall. With the conscious mind detached, the fingers once again feel free to roam the space nearby, checking for small edible objects that can be grasped and snuck into the mouth without the mind noticing. They stumble across the cache of nuts. They begin to shuttle the nuts from bowl to maw, and are given a great deal of positive feedback by that portion of the brain left, in the absence of presence of mind, in charge of food-gathering activities: "Mmff. Nuts good. More. Mm. More nuts." Whipped on by this blind halfwit sybarite overseer, the fingers quest for more nuts, or in their limited parlance, unrelated to taste, small roundish hard objects. And they find something that fits the bill. Up it goes, into the mouth! Crunch. MATCH HEAD, BURNT!!
This - the semi-conscious picking up of little things and trying to eat them - is a very bad habit I have inherited from my mother, the queen of nibbling on suspicious crumbs without really thinking. Here are two examples which are hallowed in family lore.
The Counter Caper
While talking on the phone (you see? you see?) Mom feels compelled to let her fingers rove around the counter looking for crumbs. Num num. The fingers pick up what, in their estimation, is a delicious morsel. Pinch. Lift to mouth. Chew. CAT FOOD, TUNA!!
The Christmas Nuts
Every Christmas, the Christmas pyramid is lit, a German tradition with a German Weihnachts pyramide, imported from Germany. It involves a number of candles, which give off enough heat to drive a balsa-wood propellor, which revolves to whirl a bunch of nativity figures about. It's terrifically christmas-ish - "a wonderful combination of the true Christmas spirit and mechanical fantasy." You should get one.
So, I've mentioned candles. Moving on. On the coffee table, hard by the pyramid, is a bowl of nuts. Mmm, pre-shelled nuts. Not unusual for the time of year. Mom is gazing off into space, perhaps the fire, I can't recall. With the conscious mind detached, the fingers once again feel free to roam the space nearby, checking for small edible objects that can be grasped and snuck into the mouth without the mind noticing. They stumble across the cache of nuts. They begin to shuttle the nuts from bowl to maw, and are given a great deal of positive feedback by that portion of the brain left, in the absence of presence of mind, in charge of food-gathering activities: "Mmff. Nuts good. More. Mm. More nuts." Whipped on by this blind halfwit sybarite overseer, the fingers quest for more nuts, or in their limited parlance, unrelated to taste, small roundish hard objects. And they find something that fits the bill. Up it goes, into the mouth! Crunch. MATCH HEAD, BURNT!!
I can't believe I never heard either of those stories before. It's gotta be genetic, though - I do it, too.
Have to find some clean underwear now...