I am not known in our house as being a put-together kind of woman. I often have stains on my shirts and I usually leave crumbs behind me wherever I eat. Basically, on a scale from Liz Lemon to Kate Middleton, I slant heavily toward Liz. Kate has things like ironed dresses and small hats. I have things like pasty skin and dry heels.
Jordan, not one to discriminate when it comes to crumbs, often cleans up after me. A nugget of cheese on the cutting board? Yes please. Apple skins on the counter? Sure, why not. The last bite of sandwich sitting on my plate from the day before? Score!
It was movie night, and with movie night comes pizza.
Jordan had finished his and was eyeing my slice when he noticed a pile of crumbs on my leg. Before I knew what was happening, he had reached out his hand, collected the crumbs in his fingers, and plopped them on his tongue.
I couldn’t find the words to stop him.
They were stuck in my throat.
“That’s not food.”
He looked at me confused and swallowed.
It wasn’t pizza crumbs.
It wasn’t crumbs at all.
I had been picking the dead skin off my heels, and for lack of a better place to put the pieces I had stored them on my thigh.
After initial disgust, there was nothing to do but accept his fate.
He shrugged and said, “Needs garlic.”