There are traits in people that you can learn to live with, some you might even come to love. But there are some that you absolutely can't. Kevin Hart once said, "People who eat with their mouth open should be punched in the face". Oh Kevin, I didn't realise how spot on you were. This is the devastating story of how I got my new first date question.
I honestly don't know how I dated this guy for so long without encountering this trigger sooner. On our first date, we went to a bar and played board games over a couple of pints. For anyone that knows me, I love a board game, so it's always a bonus if my date does too. We spent hours playing Bananagrams, Battleships, and the revised version of Guess Who where you make up your own unique questions like, "Does this person look like they still live with their mum?" - Yes, for those of you wondering, there is a look for this.
We met several times after that, for more drinks (can you tell I love a beer and a glass of wine?) or for fun activities, but I'd never seen him eat. One day, he invited me over for dinner. We sat down to eat and soon enough he lifted his fork to his mouth. What came next was horrifying. When I say this guy chewed loudly, I mean it was like the sound of an intermittent waterfall or a pig eating from a trough, displaying all the remnants of his dinner in his mouth. The sound was deafening. Everything else in the room became a blur as all I could do was fixate on the sight of his mouth chomping away. "STOP SLAPPING!" I heard myself say. "What? I just do it when I'm enjoying my food, babe."
I can tell you, ladies and gentlemen, it was not just when he was enjoying his food. IT WAS ALL THE TIME. I tried to persevere, I really did. He was a nice guy, and I enjoyed his company but I dreaded being around him when he ate. No one should have to tell a 34-year-old to chew with their mouth closed, right?
I started coming up with elaborate excuses to avoid meal times. "Oh, I had a big lunch," I'd say, while my stomach growled in betrayal. Or, "I'm doing a juice cleanse," which, for a beer and wine lover like me, was as believable as a dog walking on its hind legs while quoting Shakespeare. The final straw came when we went for a meal with my brother. 2 hours I sat at that table and I could not tell you a single thing that was said. All I could do was pretend I was too invested in my food to join in the conversation, whilst secretly clenching my teeth and side-eyeing the travesty that was taking place beside me. It was like a scene from a horror movie: the slow-motion chewing, the symphony of slurps, and the occasional lip smack that echoed through the restaurant like a gunshot.
So, I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and broke up with him. Since being back in the dating game, I've been armed with a new first date question: "Do you chew with your mouth open?" Because, really, no one should have to endure that.
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