So what, you say? Well, apparently, eating chicken wings with one hand constitutes a skill in his estimation. You know: handy, good with numbers, and eats wings one-handed.
I couldn't resist challenging him on this one.
"Paul. How exactly does using only one hand when eating mean that you are skilled?" I quipped.
Instantly, he retorted, "Annie." He was being a bit condescending. "Can you do it? Can you eat a wing with only one hand?"
I didn't know how to answer, because honestly, I had never tried. Why would I? What would I possibly gain by using one hand instead of the customary two? So I shot back, "I wouldn't know. "
"Well, try it. Then we'll see what you think." And the line was drawn.
So, I grabbed a drum wing, and started to nibble. I was doing quite well, in my estimation. I had almost finished the wing, had sauce dripping down my arm, and only one spot on my white shirt. I was pleased with myself until hubby threw in the new rules.
"OK, anyone can do it with a drum. You need to eat a flapper one handed. "
So, not one to shy away from a dare, I picked up a flapper, but before I could take a bite, Paul's hand shot out, and stopped me cold.
"Left handed, Annie."
I just looked at him. Eating a wing with one hand was one thing, but eating a wing with the wrong hand was another. And for that matter, why was it necessary to eat a wing with your wrong hand? Wanting to find a reason for this new idiocy, I asked, "Paul, you are just making this up as you go along, right? You don't really want me to eat with my wrong hand, do you?"
"I am completely serious. The challenge is for your left hand," he stated matter of factly.
"You don't use your left hand!"
"Yes I do!" and with that he promptly devoured that saucy wing, in his left hand, in about 25 seconds. While I was thoroughly impressed with this feat, I was also pretty disgusted to think that it would only take him about 6 minutes to finish off a dozen (Which also may be a skill in his book, but that's another post).
"Paul, before I eat this wing, I have to know. Why my wrong hand? Why not one handed with your correct hand?"
And this is where I knew that I had him. There could be no reasonable explanation for using his wrong hand, except that he was weird. Success was mine! I would be able to prove that he had just one more crazy quirk and win the argument at the same time. I was golden.
"Simple Annie. If I eat with one hand, and its my wrong hand, then my correct hand is free to do whatever I need to do. I can sign a check, shake a hand, or wipe up a baby. Whatever." And then he smirked.
I hate that smirk .
Even though his initial idea was crazy, his reasoning behind it was actually legitimate, and worse, it made complete sense. I had to admit it. It probably was a skill.
Consequently, not only was my hand wrong, I was wrong, and I hate to be wrong.
Glaring at him, I ate my wing with two hands.
After all, . . .
he had at least one hand free. I decided to let him wipe the baby, AND sign the check.
It was only fair.
(El showing she can eat with her wrong hand. What a Daddy's girl!)