Jif and I try to teach LG proper table manners. Our example isn’t always the best. Elbows on the table is a particular weakness of ours. But honestly, we try. Like a gateway drug, elbows on the table can lead to more egregious violations of etiquette. To the most egregious violations . . .
We’re all at the table on Saturday night. Eating, conversing. Every now and then, Jif or I (OK, I) will say, “LG, elbows.” Then LG sees an opportunity…
Jif smiles/smirks and removes the offending joint. But he does not learn his lesson.
Jif does not respond.
“Daddeeeeee! Now BOTH of your elbows are on the table!”
“Yes, but that’s only because I’m eating my porkchop with two hands.”
Who ARE these people? LG and I begin to laugh, and I say, “You know I’m blogging this.”
LG continues to laugh, harder. So hard, in fact, that she commits what might be the most egregious sin of all, at the dinner table. She — er — passes gas. Loudly and long.
She laughs harder. “Are you blogging that?”
“No! I wouldn’t know how to spell it . . . “
Then my rude daughter becomes thoughtful, helpful, even. “I think maybe f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f . . . “
The gentlemanly Jif offers assistance, “I think maybe a ‘t’ at the end . . .”
I don’t know these people.