Unfit to Be Seen in Public

When the Old Baguette was a very young Petite Pain, she "dined" all by herself in the kitchen.  She was propped up and strapped securely in a high chair.  She wore a bib.  A parent, or both parents, or a competent adult fed her and made sure she didn't tip over the high chair or fall out of it.  The Petite Pain loved athletic wriggling.

She developed some very annoying eating habits which obviously gave her great pleasure.  When no longer hungry, she'd get a look of glee on her face.  Then, before one of her parents or a babysitter could snatch her bowl, she'd shove it on the floor or toss it over her shoulder.  Before anyone could snatch her cup or her spoon, she'd send them both soaring.  Or, if her bowl hadn't been snatched soon enough and there were soft foods still in it, she'd puree them with her fingers.  She'd make mounds with them or shake her hands and send bits of pureed food into orbit.  The pureed food would land on flat surfaces or stick to the walls.  She was very quick and had a glorious time.    Her parents, each of whom had a strong sense of self preservation, became even quicker with practice.  As soon as they saw the "look of glee," one or both would race to the high chair and begin snatching.

When the excitement was over, one of her parents would clean her up while the other cleaned up the kitchen.  They then put her in her Dr. Denton's ( Dr. Denton's were cozy, one piece pajamas  that zipped up the front.  They covered every inch of skin except for the face and, sometimes, the hands.  They went from the top of the head to the tips of the toes.)  When she was dressed for bed, her mother read her a few rhymes and stories,  Her parents put her to bed and kissed her goodnight.  When they had put out the light, they retreated to the dining room for a leisurely meal and some good conversation.

Now, the Petite Pain's parents did not like this dinnertime routine.  It was too English   No nanny was involved, but the practice of having children eat separately from their parents seemed both  unfriendly and shortsighted.   When  families break bread together, parents and children get to know each other.  With a bit of luck, they'll learn to like each other.

One night while the Petite Pain slept,  her parents had a serious discussion that had short-term and long-term consequences.  They decided the time had come for action.  Years could pass.  The Petite Pain would be an Old Baguette eating alone in the kitchen in an over sized high chair, and they, an Old, Old Baguette and a Crusty, Crusty Roll, would  be gumming dinner together in the dining room.  They wanted to eat with the Petite Pain, but they did not want to eat with her in their small kitchen.  They wanted her to eat with them in their large dining room.  But, they liked their dining room carpet and didn't want it ruined.  They liked the mirror in the elaborate gilt frame that hung on the wall over the buffet and didn't want it shattered.   They liked well prepared food and didn't want their appetites destroyed by the sight of veggies being pureed.  The Petite Pain would be "ready" to move from kitchen to dining room when she no longer shoved, hurled, or pureed.  Her parents had devised and fine tuned  many strategies for teaching the Petite Pain new tricks,  but this was the first of many plans they made to modify the Petite Pain's behavior when it was flat out unacceptable. When they felt their plan would work, they implemented it.

First, they moved her play pen into the kitchen and put a bottle of water in it.  Then they put her in her  high chair, gave her her dinner as usual, and then stepped back.  They watched her carefully.  The instant she stopped shoveling her food into her mouth and that gleeful look appeared, they rushed to the high chair.  Instead of snatching up the bowl, cup, or spoon, they snatched up the Petite Pain.  They whisked her out of her high chair as quickly as they could and put her in her play pen.  They weren't rough, just speedy.  They didn't stop to take off her bib, to clean her face or her hands.  They didn't pause to clean up the kitchen, either.  Those chores they did later.  Leaving the light on, the two headed for the dining room and their own leisurely meal.  They didn't worry that the Petite Pain would starve.  She had, after all, made it only too clear that she had finished her dinner.  Nor would she be thirsty.  She had a bottle of water in her play pen.

Now, the Petite Pain didn't like being left alone.  Not at all.  She did cry a bit the first few days.  Then she stopped crying.  She must have mulled over causes and effects, for in no time at all, she figured out that shoving, throwing, and pureeing would lead immediately to solitary confinement in her play pen.  She  stopped creating incidents.  Amazing!  She seemed to be "ready."  The plan to modify the Petite Pain's unacceptable behavior had worked.  She and her high chair were moved into the dining room.  The playpen was moved, too, and placed within the Petite Pain's line of vision to remind her of  the inevitable consequences of shoving, throwing, and pureeing.  All went well. 

When the Petite Pain began talking, she went through a brief Oliver Twist phase.  She'd hold out her plate and ask for more.  She always said Please.  She contributed to the conversation.  She was growing up! She was becoming a bit obnoxious, so her parents had another discussion.  Perhaps, the Petite Pain was too grown up for a high chair.  When she mastered the use of a fork and a blunt knife, when she could drink from a glass, she'd be  "ready" to move from her high chair to a youth chair.  Youth chairs can be  be pushed right up to the edge of the table.  The Petite Pain wouldn't be near her parents when she had dinner.  No, she'd be with them, really with them.

But who'd be the table manners teacher?  Betty, the nine-year old from across the hall, begged to be allowed to take on the job.  The Petite Pain's mother couldn't have been more pleased.  Betty's table manners were impeccable.  Her standards were high.  Even better, Betty was a dictator.  She'd make the Petite Pain  learn.  To help out Betty, the Petite Pain's mother read books about the Goops at bedtime.  The Goops had no manners.  They ate with their fingers and licked their knives. No one ever wanted to eat with the Goops.  They were wonderful.  The Petite Pain did not want to be a Goop although she loved the stories about them.  The pictures were even better.  To avoid becoming a friendless Goop,  the Petite Pain submitted to the demands of the nine-year old dictator.  Betty made the Petite Pain learn how to use oyster forks and salad forks and dinner forks;  the Petite Pain learned how to use cream soup spoons, clear soup spoons, iced tea spoons, regular teaspoons.  She learned that she would always use the correct fork and the correct spoon if she simply worked her way from the outside in.

One day, the dictator showed the Petite Pain how to use a fish knife and a fish fork and then said, "Do what I just did."  The Petite Pain refused.  She didn't like fish, so she wouldn't need to know anything at all about using a fish knife or a fish fork.  The dictator quit, saying "The kid isn't any fun anymore.  She's turning into a brat."   The Petite Pain's mother was pleased that the Petite Pain has resisted.  Until then, she had done everything Betty had demanded of her.  Betty had played with her as if she were her doll.  With resistance, the formerly compliant doll really wouldn't be much fun, so Betty abandoned her and took up horse back riding.  With the teacher gone, the lessons ended.  The Petite Pain was transferred from high chair to youth chair, and the chair was pushed up to the table.  From that point on, the little family broke bread  together while sitting together at the same table.  They got to know each other very well and to like each other very much.   They managed to get along without fish knives or fish forks, but they couldn't get along without the Goops.

During her middle years, the Old Baguette ate at home, in hotels, in restaurants.  She had dinner with friends, and her friends had dinner with her.  She remembered Betty's lessons, so she knew how to use a variety of knives, forks, and spoons.  Her table manners really didn't deteriorate too much.

But when she became an Old Baguette?  Oh, dear!

The Old Baguette had lunch with two lovely young men last week.  They all ordered Bloody Marys, which came in glasses big enough for root beer floats,   The red, or bloody part of the Bloody Mary was hidden under a construction of veggies.  A ring of raw onion and another of green pepper were looped around a stalk of celery that rose from the glass like a Lombardy Poplar.  Draped across the top was a green plastic skewer that secured chunks of salami, cherry tomatoes, and a couple of giant green olives stuffed with pimento.   The Old Baguette wanted to soak her veggies in her drink, so she tried to slip them off the skewer into her glass.  Oops!  One of the giant olives slipped instead onto the table and began rolling.  In an attempt to keep  it from rolling off the table, the Old Baguette crouched over and  began slapping away, hoping to stop its progress with the palms of her hands. 

The slapping created quite loud. syncopated sounds.  Heads turned.  What was that woman doing?  Playing a bongo?   Despite the vigorous slapping, the Old Baguette did not capture the olive.  It rolled off the table and landed on the floor.  Hearing the commotion, the waitress came over.  Did we need help?  Yes, said the young men.  An olive has fallen on the floor and is rolling around under the table.  "Oh, kick it out here to me," said the waitress.  Thus began what well might be the world's first game of table soccer.  Here's how it's played.  The only equipment necessary is a giant green olive stuffed with a pimento.  First, drop the olive on the floor under the table.  Next,  find the olive so you can kick it.  To find it, you must bend over, stick your head under the table and search the floor.  Once you've found the olive, try to remember where it is.  .  Get your head out from under the table, slide up in the booth, stretch out your legs and try to nudge the olive into a position where it can be kicked.  Fail because the olive's too far away.  Slide down  until your chin rests on the edge of the table.  Stretch out your legs again. Get your feet tangled up again.  Slide up again and down again.  Rest your chin on the table.  In short, do what you did before repeatedly while the waitress gets on her knees to make a catch.  Finally, the olive can be kicked.  In this game, one of the young men punted it right into the hands of the waitress.    A few in the audience applauded.  Well, why not?  Table Soccer is a strenuous sport, and they'd seen a great catch.  In a few years, teams from all over the World might  be vying for the World Demitasse Cup.  (Then again, they might not.)

The waitress rose.  Would the Old Baguette care for more olives?  Of course, she would.  While the three
waited for their lunch to be served and the extra olives to arrive, the Old Baguette started twirling the skewer with her fingers.  It suddenly broke in half.  One of the halves stayed in her hand;  the other shot out like an arrow.  The young men ducked, and the skewer soared on..  Where it landed remains a mystery.  Some diner, perhaps, found it in his soup.  The extra olives arrived, and the Old Baguette, still wanting an olive soaked in gin, tried to drop it in her glass.  Her eyes aren't what they used to be, so instead of dropping the olive into  her glass, she dropped it outside her glass.  It landed on the table and started rolling.  Again, the Old Baguette bent over and started her slapping action.  Again, heads turned.  Fortunately, the Old Baguette caught the olive.  She didn't have enough energy to play another game.   Do you think the Old Baguette should have a few sessions of behavior mod before going out for lunch or dinner.  Perhaps she should simply stay at home, practice playing a bongo, and read stories about the Goops.

The waitress, the Abner Doubleday of table soccer, got a good tip.

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Footnote:  No, I didn't delete it, Sextant