Saturday, September 17, 2011

Feta Chicken.

No, not Chicken With Feta. FETA CHICKEN.

Last night I had a perfectly lovely dinner with my perfectly lovely friend S and her perfectly lovely boyfriend M. (Oh God I just realized that together they are S&M. Bygones.)

Anyway, we went out for Greek, and we ordered a sampler platter. It was my first time meeting M, and S had not briefed him on my OCD ways. At one point I used my clean spoon to...spoon out some hummus and some tzatziki onto my plate (hoping to set an example that there would be no dippage here tonight), then I used my clean fork to wrestle off a chunk of feta to put onto my own plate as well. I also stabbed tomato and then a cucumber slice, but halfway to my plate, the cucumber slid off and fell onto the table. I didn't want to cause a scene, so I put it on my plate anyway.

Then, M, being a gentleman, picked up the whole piece of feta with his bare fingers and placed it on my plate in a "here you go, you forgot this" gesture.

S, knowing me through and through, said, "Oh honey, OHHHH, honey, no, no, we don't do that. Let me tell you a little something about Jo. Jo doesn't do the germ thing." And we both proceeded to give him a (humorous) run-down of my "little situation."

We laughed, the moment passed, and all was well, and we continued to have a perfectly. lovely. evening.

But got-damn if that lone chunk of feta, and that rogue cucumber, didn't sit on my plate, utterly untouched, mocking me, playing chicken, making us all uncomfortable, all the live-long night. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. You won, feta.


  1. Following you by GFC from the Finding New Friends Weekend Blog Hop.

  2. This is unrelated to your post, except for the part that you dislike germs...

  3. OMG, will totally blog on this later. Thx. And EWWW.