dear miss manners...go climb a tree

Every time I sit down to a meal including meat or poultry of any kind - chicken, turkey, beef, steak, lamb, alligator, etc. - I always cut my grub into bite-sized pieces before proceeding to consume. I had not been consciously aware of this habit at all (in retrospect, however, I realize that I have been eating this way my entire life) until somewhat recently when it was brought to my attention by my loving family.

I distinctly recall my mom inquiring about this tedious routine one night over dinner. "Why are you cutting your meat into tiny pieces?" She demanded, earning a blank stare from me, her blissfully ignorant daughter. I stopped cutting and pondered the question, thoroughly confused. "What do you mean?" I asked dumbly, glancing at my beautifully sliced meat that was finally prepared and ready for consumption. "You're always doing that," she replied, pointing her knife at my plate, "and it drives me crazy."

The rest of the conversation isn't much worth repeating in detail. After a series of blanket statements made by my mother and disoriented gazes from myself, the issue never quite got resolved. I didn't get it; what was the big deal? Not only had my parents been keenly aware of this particular tendency of mine at the dinner table, they were concerned. Good grief.

Fast forward to this evening, as my family and I sat down to a lovely meal of breaded chicken, pasta and sugarsnap peas. Grace was spoken, dishes were passed, and the festivities began. Everything was moving along so pleasantly.

"I am absolutely going to forbid you to cut your food like that on the cruise," my mom blurted out, snapping me out of my absentmindedness that had become for me a dinnertime ritual.

"What?" I looked at my plate and frowned. I had done it again! There was my chicken breast, divided into about fifteen small pieces on the side of my plate. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious," she replied. "You're going to have to cut one piece off at a time and eat it like a normal person. You're the only person in this family who cuts their meat that way."

"But...I don't...Why is it such a big deal??" I sputtered, mentally taking note of everyone else's plates. She had been right - I was the only one!

"Because you're not a little kid." (I resent that statement. As long as I'm not making someone else cut my food for me, I don't see how kids are relevant to this issue.)

"It's actually true," my dad interjected cautiously, his head shrinking into his shoulders as he hunched over slightly (a form of body language he shares with his brother, which generally means "I'm out of my comfort zone taking sides with someone here and I don't want to offend anyone so please don't get mad at me"). "Proper etiquette means cutting one piece at a time."

Responding considerately to my dad's body language, I directed my gaze back to my mom. "I think that's retarded," I quipped in all my unpolitically correct glory. "Because a waiter might pull me aside and tell me I'm cutting my chicken incorrectly...?"

"No, because everyone on the ship will be staring at you cutting your food like a little kid."

I allowed the squabble to end there, sharing a knowing glance with my younger brother who clearly was on my side on this one, and during our discussion had (bless his soul) cut his own chicken breast into many pieces. That right there is what I call sibling loyalty, my friends. Without it, you will be left entirely on your own in situations where, in the end, you will be made to feel like an absolute fool over something as silly or trivial as the way you cut your food (or where you dispose of your bath towel, or how long your Tonka truck's been sitting in the driveway...). But with it (please pardon my cheesy, unintended pun), no matter which way you slice it, you always come out a winner.

By the way, I fully intend to practice my surprisingly controversial meat-cutting habits on the cruise. In the deep words of a wise man named John Reuben, "Do not tell me what I can and cannot do when I rock."