Last night,

     Salad slipped onto my chin at the most convenient moment during dinner. There I was, eye to eye with my dad, and a saucy slice of lettuce dangling from the corner of my lips.

     “How Lady-like of you,” he said grimly, and I froze.

     To say I wasn’t taken back by the comment would be a lie. I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was shoveling food into my mouth. There’s nothing more detrimental to your ego than being told you’re not acting the lady you thought you were. The piece of salad still swung, gently brushing my skin.

     After laughing it off, I continued to eat, but the comment haunted the rest of my night.  I was eating like a savage. What else had I been doing like a feral pig?! Every little thing I did or had done, I knit-picked.

     Sitting on the couch? Your legs are open to wide.

     Watch that posture! Don’t want your gut to slip out!

     It came to a point where I was completely uncomfortable just being a being. How had I ever attracted anyone acting so disgustingly? And that’s when it hit me:

I typically am a lady!

     I’m utterly aware of how I’m eating when I’m out. I’m told all the time I am a perfect lady! I know that being a lady comes to me like second nature; just like being a sprawled-out slob at home feels homely! How easy it was for me to forget who I am with a simple put-down by someone who judges others constantly!

     My dad should be flattered that I’m as comfortable as I am around him (and love his cooking as much as I do). I am more than willing to eat as if I’m a starved dog for each dinner going forward! It’s a compliment!