According to Sweetie, a guy can find out everything he needs to know about a woman by the way she eats. On our first date he took me to an Oriental restaurant. I'm pretty sure I snagged him during the egg rolls.
"Honey, slow down," the man says, pounding his choking wife on the back. "This isn't your last meal."
Compliments of a client, Sweetie and I are at one of those political fund-raiser dinners. We're seated at a table with three couples we've never seen before, and if Sweetie has his way, we'll never see them again.
Waving the young waiter over, the woman grabs a second shrimp cocktail off his tray and proceeds to stuff it down like there's no tomorrow which, if you actually stop and read the party platform, is a distinct possibility.
"At 500 bucks a plate," she grumbles with her mouth full, "we should take home the china."
"Now, there's a China policy the voters would go for," Sweetie says.
"Well, it beats the heck out of a rubber chicken in every pot," the man on my left says. While his young wife flirts with the waiter, the man takes off on campaign reform, totally oblivious to the state of his union.
"Ummm!" she groans, when the waiter places a basket of rolls on the table. "I just LOVE the smell of hot buns!"
While Deep Throat continues to negotiate a trade agreement with the waiter, the woman sitting next to Sweetie rubs her temples.
"What's wrong, darling?" her husband asks anxiously.
"Headache," she says, flinching when he tries to touch her.
"Maybe eating something would help," he suggests.
Sighing, she takes a tiny nibble of her roll. Staring straight ahead with glazed eyes, she chews begrudgingly. Butter wouldn't melt on this woman's tongue.
Finally, the politician walks to the podium and the clatter of china and the chatter of donors stops. Chairs scraping, we all turn to give the politician our undivided attention.
While everyone else in the room clings to his every word, Sweetie and I have our eyes glued on the politician's wife. Fingers laced and a supportive smile on her face, she looks proudly up at her husband as he pounds the podium and promises to make the world a better place by eliminating the luxury tax on yachts.
Suddenly, something on the table catches the politician's wife's eye. Sneaking a peek around the room to see if anyone is watching, she snatches the last bite of her husband's pie off his plate and pops it in her mouth.
The minute the chocolate hits her tongue, she sucks in a breath. Eyes rolling back and perfect posture melting, she bites her lip to stifle a moan.
"Frugal, yet passionate," I note.
"Welp," Sweetie says, taking a sip of coffee, "he's got my vote." (Copyright 1999 P.S. Wall. Distributed by Universal Press Syndicate.)