“Sunday Supper” happens once a quarter in the international house at UCSD. It’s an evening of good food and good music, where students who don’t normally dress fancy have to (and probably want to) dress up fancy. I even swapped my usual shirt and shorts for a tie and slacks.
People look fantastic this night. And since they look fantastic, they feel fantastic — so of course they’d like to look fantastic a bit longer. I certainly did. It’s been several hours since the event ended, and I’m still in a button-up and tie, writing this.
——-
Enter the corn on the cob.
Here I was, sitting at a table with seven other people, and more than half of them are using a fork and knife to eat their corn on the cob. Guys and girls, both.
I always thought corn on the cob was one of those foods that you eat with your bare hands, like you do pizza slices by your palm and french fries with your fingers (unless it’s drenched in sauce, where something like a fork would be acceptable).
True, everybody was all dressed up in button-down shirts, ties, and in their Sunday best, and nobody wanted to mess that up too early. But we’re still students! I thought we were supposed to rebel and stuff. I wanted to see the British girl next to me go H.A.M. on the corn on the cob, so when we talked a few minutes later we couldn’t help but accidentally spit corn bits on each other’s faces.
This isn’t a fetish. It’s more like an appreciation of how spraying our words instead of saying it is another way of showing that we’re all human, and that we can’t always be refined and proper.
Maybe another time.
