I guess the post title pretty much gives away the whole story, minus the details. I’m loathe to repeat all of the details because they were disgusting enough the first time around.
Last night we went to the Hermitage Vittles for dinner. They have (what I’m told is) good meatloaf, and my poor husband is married to a woman who thinks meatloaf is one of the four most disgusting food items on the planet–right beneath haggis and fighting a dueling battle with pigs’ feet.
A few minutes after we were seated, two guys came in who I suspect are ancillary folks in the music business. Live in Nashville long enough and you get to know the type. They’re usually burly and have a gruff charm that says they’ve retained a sense of fun despite the fact that they look as though they’ve had a few swigs of hard-living. But the easiest and best way to tell they’ve been roadies is that they are hard of hearing AND TALK REALLY LOUDLY ALL THE TIME.
Here’s where the trouble begins.
The guy with his back to me, sitting right behind my husband began a protracted narrative about his health problems–specifically his dental health problems. Even though I’ve got pretty persistant nausea (cause as yet unknown), I’ve got a fairly high tolerance for “gross” stories. But we sat through at least 8 minutes of talk about how his teeth have begun rotting out of his head. He’s had cavities in molars for years but now the front teeth are starting to go. His gums are receeding and bleeding. There was talk of oral abscesses, pus, blood and rot. Lots of talk.
And then came the death knell.
“We looked at doing implants but the hole in the bone was rotting around the edges.”
At that point I just lost it. I said–as politely as possible–“Excuse me! I’m trying to eat!”
Now of course there were many responses I probably deserved. They could have said “lady, you don’t look like you need to eat any more.” They could have said “Mind your own business.” Instead, they both looked abashed and apologised. The waiter came over and asked THEM what the problem was and the rotting-tooth guy said “oh just me and my big mouth.” (the funny part was that it really was his mouth that was the problem. Not the talking. The rotting.)
I felt really bad for making them feel bad and just took the rest of my dinner home.
Just Another Pretty Farce 
I think you were totally right to say something. Anyone over five years old should know that is not appropriate dinner conversation. My husband would have fainted by that point. I would probably not have been so nice.
I think you were in the right, too! Sometimes it seems as if we have lost all decorum in this world.
Good for you–when I do it as a guy it usually turns really ugly but it sounds like you handled it well.
What surprises me is that his dinner companion didn’t say something. It’s something beyond the decay of decorum and the onset of solipcism. We see it all the time in my cookbook world — people want to put pictures of animals on the same page with food, or put a story about dirty feet or insects on the page with a recipe.
Early in our marriage, we agreed that we are NOT to talk about the nuts and bolts of our jobs over dinner. Mine bores her to tears, and hers can gross me out at times.
We love each other , but there are lines that must be drawn.
Eh, Kat, that’s not your two natures conflicting. It’s the patriarchy telling you that you must squelch your real nature and put up with whatever garbage random surrounding men may be spewing, never speak to strangers, and never criticize men. Come on — if you were polite, as I’m sure you were, then you acted rightly. And, from their reaction, it’s obvious that the guys recognized that you were acting rightly. Now, root out those nasty little vestiges of patriarchy and stop letting your nature be so oppressed.
🙂
Sometimes I have to remind my Nurse-Technician-Doctor-to-be wife sometimes I really don’t want to hear about her day at the dinner table.
Wow.