Taming the Shrew

So last night I took my roommate, Yoka, and our friend Marwa for Yoka's belated birthday dinner. As happens whenever females convene in groups greater than 1, we started to discuss the men in our lives. It's amazing how non-flattering these stories can get. Anyway, Yoka and I were telling Marwa about Yoka's new boyfriend Will having invited Yoka to Scotland for a meet-the-parents session.

This invitation had come near the end of a meal we had been sharing at home this past weekend. While discussing the trip, I started to notice that Yoka, who is really thin but eats MONSTROUS amounts of food (and keeps off the weight by being a cave-diver/runner/cyclist kinda gal) was using the side of her fork to scrape food from her plate that I, sitting across from her, realized could not be seen with the naked eye. She would scrape her plate a little and then, as though there was actually food on her fork -- which, there was not -- put it in her mouth as though she was actually eating -- which she couldn't have been. At this point I have to say that, even though that sounds odd, when Yoka does this kind of thing, she does so with a quirky sort of elegance.

Yoka is Belgian-European and has habits around food that, to my Canadian eyes anyway, are endlessly fascinating and charming. I love sharing meals with Yoka. It's not just that it's amazing to watch a lovely redhead who weighs, maaaaybe, a buck-10, consume massive quantities of cream-covered pasta, bread, cheese, olives, salad, and and whatever else is on the table, and then end her meal with a dainty little flourish of chocolate mousse -- but it's the way she eats ("you know what would be so perfect"? she will ask innocently following an anaconda-like eating session "a little chocolate mousse. It's soooo delicious" and she will smile widely and jump to our miraculous chocolate-mousse producing refrigerator).

Yoka approaches her meals as though everything she eats is endlessly interesting and tasty and she makes delighted, "yummy noises". It's quite adorable. So when she finished this particular meal (we had been eating for almost 2 hours by then... pretty typical for a Sunday afternoon around here) by scraping the molecules, I teased her by asking if she would like to lick her plate (she had done it the week before), and I said I would look away.


(Notice Yoka's spoon... I'm lucky to have got this shot before all this food disappeared)






Caught, she laughed and said "it's just so delicious. I don't want to miss any".

Will, however, gave her a level stare as though seeing her for the very first time and asked "you lick your plate"?

Yoka and I looked at each other, grinning a little. I said nothing. Yoka with an innocent-sounding Belgian-English accent said "weeelll, yes. Sometimes I do. If my meal is delicious". I looked at Will who clearly was assessing this new information and trying to reconcile it against his image up to that moment of his fantastically wonderful, beautiful, sexy new girlfriend. He honestly looked as though he'd never seen her before. "You don't do it all the time though, do you"?, he asked.

Yoka looked at me, perplexed. I answered for her "well, of course she doesn't". He didn't look convinced. "Besides, it's not excessively unusual" I continued in her defence, "haven't you ever licked your plate".

"No". He said and turned to Yoka, "You're not going to lick my parents plates, are you"?

"What"? We said simultaneously.

"Your plate", he said. "You're not going to lick your plate at the dinner table when we visit my parents, will you"?

"Of course not" We both said again, simultaneously. They looked at me. "Well, I mean, of course she wouldn't lick her plate in front of your parents" I said. "Who would do that"? I looked at Yoka, suddenly unsure. "You wouldn't lick your plate at Will's parent's house, would you"?

"NO"! She said

"See" I said

"Well, I'd hope not" said Will

See, Will's parents are Scottish and, by his description, are quite conservative. I suspect he's at least as conservative as they are.

So last night after we laughingly retold this story to Marwa she exclaimed "he's Taming the Shrew"!!

"Oh my God"! I said with sudden clarity, "he IS. He's taming the Shrew"!!! and Marwa and I broke up in peals of laughter.

"He's what"? said Yoka "what's he doing"?

"He's taming the Shrew" we choked out together
"Shakespeare" I said, not breathing
"You're Katherine" laughed Marwa

"I don't know what you're talking about" said Yoka, who has been educated in the Belgian school system and hasn't read much non-continental literature.

"You're Eliza Doolittle" I said, non-helpfully "You know, Pygmalion".

"Listen" said Marwa a bit seriously "you said he started correcting your grammar sometimes... "

"Yes, well", said Yoka in perfect English, "but my English. It's not perfect".

"... and now he's worried about your table manners in front of his parents", continued Marwa, "he's grooming you for the visit. He's taming the shrew".

I nodded in agreement.

"...and you're the shrew". Marwa concluded.

I nodded slowly.

"Well" said Marwa, speaking for both of us, "We think you're perfect".

Yoka looked at me. "Completely" I said.

"What's a shrew"? asked Yoka after a moment.

Marwa and I weren't expecting this.

"Uhhh, I'm not sure", Marwa evaded, and started looking around for the waiter, "does anyone want chocolate mousse"?